Easter is almost upon us. When I was growing up it was one of my favorite holidays, ranking #3, just behind Christmas and Halloween. Usually the Wed. before, my mom would boil the eggs. She had a very precise way of doing that. Any way other than hers, was just wrong; something she reminded me of, even when I was 50.
Every year the routine never varied. On Good Friday night we’d gather around the kitchen table to dye eggs. Mom would always gather the same 6 cups, an eclectic mix of mis-matchedness and put one Paas tablet into each one. Then came the vinegar followed by the boiling water. Back then I always thought that those tablets made the best colors; that they were way better than colors you could make with the liquid food coloring. What can I say? I was young. I always asked why they only put 1 wire egg dipper in each box. (I wasn’t big on waiting my turn back then).
Mom always made an Easter egg that looked like my dad by gluing cotton to the egg to make it look like a balding head. She always took the clear crayon and wrote our name on an egg, then dyed it our favorite color. (Mine was always turquoise). Our Easter baskets were wicker, not plastic. These days there are Easter buckets in the stores. (Somehow that seems wrong). Our dachshund Max, loved hard boiled eggs. It was always a race on Easter morning to find the eggs hidden in the yard before he did.
Our kids were lucky to live in the same city as my mom. As soon as they were able to participate, my mom was back at her kitchen table, spreading out the newspapers again, and gathering those same 6 cups. Over the years mom bought various Paas kits in attempt to change the look of the eggs. Our kids had sparkle eggs, tie-dye eggs, eggs with decals and even Shrinky Dink Easter eggs. Their favorites ones though were just the plain eggs that were left in the dye a long time, making the eggs a jewel tone.
When our kids were young I thought it was important to make the most beautiful eggs in the world. I watched Martha Stewart, trying to learn the way to make the most beautiful Easter eggs, then fussed at myself if mine didn’t turn out beautifully. I used rubber bands, dental floss, sponges, paintbrushes and even paper reinforcements to try to change the look of our eggs.
Although it took me a couple of years, eventually I came to realize that it was the process, not the outcome, that was so important to the kids. I’m looking forward to being in our new place for next Easter; and now that my mom is gone, it seems that the annual gathering of the cups has fallen to me. I figure I better get in a lot of practice before there are little ones gathering around my table on Good Friday night. I wouldn’t want to drop the ball egg. Happy Easter everybody.
What I remember most about Easter was getting the basket with all that horrible plastic grass and a chocolate bunny and all the little chocolate eggs. I think I like the malted milk eggs the most. They were covered in chocolate and they crunched. I always are my bunny from the feet up. What about you? What I hate are the stupid plastic eggs that break in half so candy and other things can go inside. Dyed eggs are way more fun!
I think I was an “ears first” kinda kid. I agree that dyed eggs are way more fun. I guess the plastic eggs have their place; but I never have care for them. Have a great Easter Day kiddo. Tell Miss Andi hi for me.
My Easter memories include an Easter Egg Hunt that my mother was mortified to find in process: The colored baby chicks got out and wandered the entire house, pooping as they went and in our zeal to contain them, we kids smashed every egg we had so carefully colored. My dad had all he could do to keep from exploding with laughter and my mom had all she could do to keep from killing us both. Oh, and the neighbor boy was never invited to our home again. I wonder if that scarred him emotionally?
HOPPY Easter!
Mother connie
I bet that would be a riot to watch, if you could do so now. I won a baby chick for Easter at my school. The day after I brought it home, my mom said it ran away. Apparently it ran into the mouth of our dachshund, Rusty. I think I was in my 20′s before she told me what really happened.