Our Very Own Dinosaurs

I am going to stop saying we are full at the inn. I clearly don't know what I am talking about. Let's begin at the beginning...

 

Each year, we put together wish lists with the kids. Brad helps Issa, and I help Evan. While we were reluctant at first, we love seeing what they think would be fun and it ends the "I wants" and helps the kids understand we don't get everything we want. We also have family members who thank us every year because our angels have eclectic tastes.

 

Well...we really don't censor these lists. We may ask some questions or point out some potential pit falls, but if they really want to put it on there, we do. I also generally forget to look at any of the fine print on anything. Last year, Evan had the year of the huge because I blissfully ignored dimensions of things like stuffed dinosaurs and dump trucks. Packing was tricky.

 

This year, I accidentally put a pet on Evan's list. Triops. Or, as Evan calls them, his very own dinosaurs. I thought this kit would be one of those throw the stuff in some water and watch them grow--kind of like crystals. Oops. See me:

 I'm reading the direction book...book. As in a daily guide for care, because each day is different. See me:

 I'm crushing the carrots they need to eat. See Issa:

 In her effort to document every moment of the triop birth she showed herself measuring the exact amount of crushed carrot. She took her job very seriously:

 Wierdo.

But...Evan is in love with his very own dinosaurs:

 They live on the top of our wine rack, and the kids check on them often:

And really, how can you argue with your very own dinosaurs and a magnifying glass? Now we wait for the eggs to hatch and welcome the newest addition to the menagerie.