I will admit that I get frustrated with the holiday hoopla at times. There is a lot of prep work that goes into holidays and family traditions. I almost needed to breathe into a paper bag after realizing all the things I had yet to do (like buy candy!).
Once the boys started getting cavities (to my great shame) I started phasing out candy as the primary focus of Easter. My oldest will tell you about Jesus, but chocolate bunnies rest at his feet when it comes to the holiday. In a fit of preparation that is very unlike me, I bought them a bean bag toss game after Christmas for the express purpose of being an Easter present. I learned my lesson after putting Play Doh in their Easter baskets, let me tell you.
Naturally, the majority of this holiday stuff falls on the mom. My husband’s major contributions were 1) reminding me I had purchased the bean bag toss game and 2) fishing the Easter baskets out for me. I don’t mind the imbalance so much; I just would like him to realize how much work goes into these things. Those plastic eggs don’t hide themselves, nor do the church outfits magically pop out of the closet wrinkle free.
It is part of my job description to make these things special, lest my neglecting to actually dye Easter eggs results in one of my children turning into Hannibal Lecter.
We always dyed eggs at my house. The smell of vinegar will always make me think of coloring eggs. My mom showed us how to use a white crayon to make drawings on our eggs. When we put them in the dye, that part would stay white. Naturally, we thought that was the coolest thing ever.
My boys aren’t quite ready for that. This is the first time Linus did not break half of his eggs by dropping them into the bottom of the coffee cups filled with dye (coffee cups are part of the tradition).
Instead, after I boil the eggs, I write each family member’s name on an egg. Some get crosses, some get smiley faces. I don’t use the crayon on all of the eggs, and they go into the bottom of the bowl.
This year, Linus dyed the first one. He lifts his spoon and shouts “it has the baby’s name on it!”
“You have a magic egg?” I asked him.
“I do!”
Tater immediately had to have a magic egg as well. Fortunately you can feel the crayon on the eggs, and sure enough, his next egg was a magic one as well.
The kids couldn’t wait to see what their egg said. Oh, those magic eggs!
“Mom, are you sure you didn’t write on those eggs?” Tater asks me.
“Sweetie, how could Mommy write on an egg?”
I could see him thinking, and he let it go when he couldn’t come up with a way for me to do such a crazy thing.
It’s probably the last time I can pull magic eggs over on him. He is nearly seven years old. He is hitting that age when it is hard to hang onto magic.
I wasn’t looking forward to coloring the eggs. I will admit that. Sometimes the idea of the inevitable mess just does not make me jump for joy. It’s amazing how kids make you forget all about that once you are actually doing it. The squeals of joy over magic eggs gloss over the spilled dye and more dishes to wash.
Heaven knows I am going to have to remind myself of this when when we are sitting through a very long church service with sugared up little boys!
