Bird Poop Brownies

I try so hard to follow the directions and just be normal like everybody else, but no, I have to sprinkle my life with special ingredients.  So once upon a spring day while my babies were playing inside the fenced yard and I was melting a cup of butter to make brownies because sugar and chocolate are so healthy for my family, I got bored with the regular recipe.
After adding 3/4 of a cup of cocoa, two cups of sugar, three or four eggs, a splash of vanilla, and a cup and a half of flour to the melted butter, I picked out the eggshells that shone so brightly in the brown goo.  Then I ransacked my cabinets for other neat things to add to the batter.  I prefer boy brownies (you know, they kind that have nuts) but I'm outnumbered five to one in my household so I decided not to add nuts.  (If I ever grow up and move out, I'll eat what I want.)
I threw in a fistful-minus-five chocolate chips, as if there isn't enough chocolate already in brownies.  I would have added the entire fistful except five of the bittersweet morsels fell inside my face.  Thank you, Nestle.  Then I found some crusty stale marshmallows.  Well, they're no good for anything else, so I chopped them up and dumped them into the brownie batter.
After half an hour at three hundred fifty degrees on the temperature scale proposed by Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit (1686-1736), the batter had turned into a beautiful glossy brick of delectability.  Besides the usual sheen across the top, there were also little white and gold globs here and there where the marshmallows had peeked out of the batter to toast themselves.
My babies came in from the backyard, all sniffing.  "Yum!" and, "Smells like brownies!" and, "What's that stuff on the brownies?"  And then The Precious had to say, "It looks like bird poop."  It was true.  The melted marshmallows looked like bird poop.
Like any self-respecting mother would, I said, "Yep.  It is bird poop.  I went out to the front yard and collected bird poop, and then I made brownies out of it."
If they didn't believe me, they'd have a funny story to laugh at, and if they did believe me, I could eat all the brownies myself.  Definitely a win-win.  As usual, they didn't believe a word I said.  Which is probably a good thing, or I'd be looking like the purple Willie Wonka girl right now.  Even Jeremy Renner would get fat on these things.
Bird Poop Brownies became a household tradition that day, one I'm proud to say has passed on to the next gen.  Pixie just baked some up today.