Easter eggs

In an attempt to redeem my failing "mother-of-the-year" status, I agreed to decorate eggs with my kids this year. I honestly believe it is the first time in my 12 year mothering career that I have done this . . . now you can see why this "mother-of-the-year" award is so fleeting. Young children, permanent egg stain & eggs just never seemed like a good combination to me. Besides nobody likes to eat boiled eggs except me (and occasionally Carra if armed with a full bottle of ranch dressing).

(An interesting story could be inserted here about an unwritten pre-nuptial agreement and boiled eggs - but that would be a rabbit trail - no Easter pun intended . . . )

I decided to go ahead and fight the fight upfront and not boil the eggs. I figured the kids won't eat them, but the kids will treasure them, the eggs will rot, the eggs will stink, the mom will throw the eggs away, the kids will cry, the mom will roll her eyes and never do this again.

So we didn't boil.

We blew.

(Can you see the vein popping out in his forehead??)

We dipped.



We spilled.


We drew.



We dunked.



We created.


And I survived.

I don't know if I'll get "mother-of-the-year" but in the end I did get happy kids, fun memories and a big mess . . . what more could a mother ask for (other than a maid)???