Cluck cluck cluck

Sometimes, when I am talking to my kids, I feel like I would be better off talking to chickens. Take this morning for example. Madeline and I were cleaning up her room and we found these itty-bitty, white beads all over her bed, obviously having come out of something stuffed. After searching high and low, I found the culprit: the stitching of a little princess pillow had come open and the beads were spilling out. Fortunately, there was a zipper that would conceal the hole, if only kept closed. 

"Madeline, you need to keep this closed so the beads don't spill out," I told her as I zipped it up. 

"It's a zzzzzipper mom!" she exclaims. 

"Yes, I see that and it needs to stay closed so the beads don't fall out of the hole in the pillow," I repeat. 

"Will they come out and sting us?" she says, apparently not quite getting it. 

"Not bees Madeline, beads," I articulate. 

"Oh, can we eat the beans?" she asks. 

"Bea-duh Madeline, beads, not beans," I say. 

"Oh, are we going to make a necklace?" she asks enthusiastically. 

Cluck, cluck, cluck...

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