Coloring Eggs, Staining Things, and Other Fond Easter Memories

I had just destroyed a perfectly good butterfly shaped cake. The damn thing broke apart while trying to escape from the pan. The air smelled like the promise of a delicious dessert. And it was, minus the frosting, beauty, and basically everything else that would make it Easter themed. I pulled the Easter pie out of the oven (which was dinner, not dessert), and told you it was egg coloring time.

You will probably grow up hating traditions, because I love them so much. Every holiday we have a couple, and I seem to be adding on to them all the time. This evening, of course, was egg coloring night. You were excited, and immediately ran to the egg basket.

This is the first year I actually went to the trouble of buying the $1.99 egg coloring kit. Typically we use whatever food dye I have in the house, which does not wash off nearly as well, so I wear it on my fingers a few days like an advertisement for my activities. I did, however, manage to fail in another department—I forgot to save back very many eggs. Since we have chickens, I strongly dislike buying eggs. So, you have been coloring a variety of brown, green, and white eggs since the first Easter you were old enough to hold them. This is also the first year your sister has been old enough to participate, so we had to divide our measly eight eggs by two. All that said, you both were pretty happy about it.

I gave you both a brief speech about how we do not spill the cups or drink from the cups (we both know your sister is a little crazy like that still). I stepped back and allowed you two to start whatever havoc was necessary. Your sister’s best friend, the dog, was watching intently. Your sister, the little adventure seeker, was the first to dive in—somewhat literally. I had not really imagined she would submerge her entire hand within the narrow space between egg and wall of cup. She developed a yellow hand. I kept taking pictures. You were very studious, carefully documenting your eggs with the clear crayon provided with the kit. Everyone colored their eggs and it was a Hallmark moment (despite the ever changing shade of sister’s hand), for another three minutes. Then I walked away to get the Easter pie on the table. As though you two had been holding back your more animal nature, things grew noisy and wild quickly. The yellow dye was a goner, although I think it may have found a way to live on with the tile grout. One sad green egg had managed to lose bits of shell. I mopped up the yellow; I silenced the accusations. All was at peace, but with only eight eggs to color and all finished already in lovely pastel hues, of course, four hands went at them again. I walked away to eat my Easter pie while it was still hot, figuring I’d return to eggs the color poop-brown and rainbow tile grout. I could hear you two arguing. Sister had decided that once all were colored initially, all eggs were communal property. After a bit more squabbling and likely all the eggs having been colored about five times over, you both arrived at the table.

Outside the dining room windows the blue light of dust was settling in. The shrubs, trees, and wildflowers all looked to be tucked in by the blanket of blue light—all peaceful and sleeping. The dining room was an enormous contrast, with its bright gold light and boisterous discussion. I kept having to tell you to sit. (We don’t stand in a chair to eat. You aren’t a chicken—you have knees.) Your sister started to sing one of her lovely chanting songs. She was trying to sing “Two forks, two forks, two forks…”, but in her toddler dialect she has difficulty with her “r” changed words. If you exchange a short “u” for the “or” in “fork”, you have something that sounds very much like a cussing toddler. I sat there, smiling to myself, wondering when I should attempt to intervene. You decided to make that clear for me by joining in with her pronunciation, grinning from ear-to-ear, as you chanted without the garbled toddler voice. I’m not sure how I concluded this, but the toddler likely now thinks that “fork” is a bad word. You can explain that to her later on.

After dinner I went to the living room to take in the chaos. Surprisingly, all was well. In fact, you two had managed to color the most unique Easter eggs I’ve ever seen. Forget all those silly tutorials on Pinterest, you two are true artists.