Messing with Grandma

Story time
I am babysitting for my grandsons. For breakfast I suggested eggs. They rejected the idea no matter how much I tried to convince them. So I cooked oatmeal, not my favorite, so I passed.
Fast forward two hours later. I have yet to eat breakfast because the boys keep me hopping. I fry up two eggs and manage to get that crispy lace around the edges without overcooking the yokes. My stomach growls as I sit down to eat.
The almost four year old jumps up on my lap and thanks me for fixing his favorite. He’s cute, and I hand over the fork before heading to fix more eggs.
I return to the table just in time to stop the two year old from clobbering his brother in a hostile takeover attempt of the first set of eggs.
My daughter is their mom and she requires I return both boys in tact. After handing over my new plate of eggs, I remind myself I am a grown woman and author. I can plot my own happily ever afters.
Brilliant plotter that I am, I cook three eggs this time. One egg I deliver to the table. It’s a decoy. I sneak back to the kitchen where my eggs are stashed on the counter.
I savored the flavor of that first bite of fried egg even if it had no crispy lace edge and the yoke is hard.
Then I see a flaw in my plan. I peek at the boys, sure they are going to be in battle over the extra egg. They are finished eating and in the next room debating if a sock can be a pretend bandage for the injured stuffed elephant they are fixing. Almost four insist it can. Two, a future engineer, can’t see past the practical application.
The decoy egg was still on the table on a paper plate.
The next bite of my secret eggs was halfway to my mouth when the family lab locked eyes with me. Then we both glanced at the extra egg on the table. Time slowed down as panic set in. I have been sanctioned before for feeding her human food. There is no chance the event would go unnoticed. Almost four is a tattle tale. ‘It’(s) not tattling if it’(s) true.’ He can’t pronounce /s/.
Pup and I race to the paper plate. I lose.
The chase is on.
In the lead, pup has the paper plate with the extra egg. Now picture an overweight 57 grandmother trying to grab him. The grandsons join the chase, learning naughty words I am forbidden from using in their presence. Yes, 4 year old is going to repeat them when mom comes home, but I can only deal with one disaster at a time.
Pup drops the plate, the egg bounces and he catches it before it begins its descent.
Defeated, I bend down to pick up the plate.
Only the boys don’t know the game is over
They continue chasing Pup into the kitchen, repeating words better forgotten. Luckily the ‘s’ is hard to pronounce for both boys. ‘Hit pup, hit. Top you tipid mutt!’
That’s when it dawns on me. My plate of eggs is in the kitchen!
Needless to say, I did not have breakfast!