I like to think of holidays (including birthdays) as sort of fluid. There’s no need to be bound by the actual date, is there? In our house, we open Christmas presents for a good week. It isn’t that we have so many gifts (although with five children there is certainly a respectable pile under the tree) but that we like to S…T…R…E…T…C…H out our Christmas celebrations. Once the last present is open, it means Christmas is over.
Although my primary Love Language is probably quality time, I have a strong love of gifts. It seems rather shallow in comparison to some of the other gifts. Although maybe you aren’t supposed rank the 5 love languages – I guess that kind of defeats the purpose of understanding people feel loved in different ways and in order to make them FEEL loved, you need to speak the language that communicates best to them.
Still, I feel a bit childish to admit that a present makes me happy. What am I, five? None the less, it’s true and I’ve come to accept it about myself. Thankfully I have a husband who LOVES to give presents almost as much as I enjoy receiving them. Aren’t we a wonderful team! One year my birthday lasted for several weeks with Tim bringing out a steady stream of presents. It was heavenly!!
I digress (it was all that talk of presents, got me a bit giddy). I was hoping a discussion on elaborate, stretched out celebrations would distract everyone from the fact that today’s pictures revolve around dying Easter eggs.
And Easter was several days ago. Sigh. I blame this terrible breech in egg dying protocol on my mother in law. I also blame my mother. My mother in law went and caught the flu this Easter. Now how are we supposed to dye Easter eggs and eat jelly beans and chocolate all day if Grandma is sick? Especially if I am on record as being generally opposed to candy and rely on the grandparents to provide my children with confections of all sorts. Some people have no respect for proper traditions.
Daniel, Joshua and Andrew wait patiently for Grandma to fire the starter pistol on the great Egg Dying Competition of 2000.
Rachel’s hogging the blue in 2000.
And my mother? She loves dying Easter eggs. She will work hard to gather some children (even if they are grown up, not a single one of them under the age of 10, or even 25) for an afternoon of Easter egg dying. She does, however, live in Michigan. Yes, Michigan. That is MUCH too far to go for an afternoon of egg dying. Some years our family has managed to combine our Michigan visit with Easter (truly a worthy feat).
Here my brother, Phil, and Daniel work hard at their eggs in 2004.
It’s 2004 and Sarah lets Aunt Jenn help her a little bit but eventually she wants to get her hands on that spoon and do some dipping herself.
Of course, this produces ONE yellow egg and some very messy fingers requiring serious cleaning up.
With all these mothers not cooperating a bit, it’s amazing we managed to dye Easter eggs at all. Thankfully we had an episode of Bonanza to console and buoy our spirits. Afterward, it was time for some serious egg work.
How can we possibly eat any of the childrenâ€™s precious works of art? “No, don’t eat the [insert color here] one!” With five children (and parents who want to play with the pretty colors as well), how many eggs do you need to hard boil? How many egg salad sandwiches can one family eat? How long do hard boiled eggs last? These are significant questions. I remember talking to my mother last week.
“Are you ready for your company, Mom?
“Oh, yes. We’ll have an easy lunch, that’s all settled. I’m worried about something else, though.”
“Oh dear, what’s wrong?”
“How many eggs do I boil? How many will each person want to dye? 3? 4? More than that? I’m a bit concerned.”
“Um, Mom, is Dan coming over with the kids?”
“No, it’ll just be the four of us. Thom and Jenn are coming for lunch. But you know your father, he always surprises me and wants to do his fair share of Easter egg dying.”
“I’m sure you’ll work it out, Mom.”
So, you see, some of the great questions in life must be puzzled out each year.
Happy Late Easter Egg Dying!!