Last Saturday night, as I was standing in the kitchen blowing my brains out, all I could think was: Martha did it to me again.
It had recently dawned on me that the Easter holiday was approaching. Maybe it was random talk of Lenten sacrifices, or the grocery store aisles filled with candy, plastic grass and cheap straw baskets that tipped me off.
Easter, this year, is a bigger deal to me than in years past. Because, this year, the holiday is all ‘on me’. Not being a big holiday person, I’ve been content to let the grandparents call the Easter shots the past three years. They’ve made the ham, organized egg-hunting excursions, and produced boiled eggs and bowls of colored vinegar water.
But now that we’re in the frozen tundra, we’re grandparent-less. Which means, this year, unless I come through with a new sweater, or a little basket or some hidden eggs…or something, my kids will get nada come Easter morn.
So I made a mental note to remember to put together some Easter baskets for the boys. Which, of course, involved having to ascertain the exact date of Easter, since I can’t be counted upon to shower on a daily basis, much less know the dates of holidays.
But part of me thought that wouldn’t be enough. There needed to be…more. It needed to be the best Easter. Ever.
And of course, Martha Stewart was more than happy to offer a few suggestions to that end.
The April issue of Martha Stewart Living arrived two weeks ago. And, once again, the cover featured some lovely looking craft that I knew would be the death of me: dyed egg ornaments.
I read through the instructions on how to blow out eggs, aka, make tiny holes on the top and bottom and force out the contents of the egg. I bought five dozen eggs at Costco, we gathered supplies and began our egg-blowing adventures after dinner.
Egg number 1, cracked in my hand while I was diligently trying to make a tiny hole in its top. Egg number 2, was retrieved from its carton by our resident Hen and accidentally smashed on the table. Before anyone could even try to make a hole in it.
Which is when the operation was moved to the kitchen. And why I spent my Saturday night blowing my brains out. Naturally Jason got roped in, as he knew he would. And he spent his Saturday night blowing his brains out too. Except, he made bigger holes than I did, and was approximately three times as fast at placing empty eggs back into the carton.
I’d envisioned a plethora of beautiful, colorful eggs. But after blowing out a few, we decided twenty was a nice, round number. We could always make some more.