It was Friday night and I was sitting all alone at the dining table doing my best to burst a blood vessel in my brain. Some prefer to call it ‘blowing out eggs for decorating purposes’ but that does not adequately describe the horrific tedium that is using a needle to poke two tiny holes in an egg and forcing out its contents….using your mouth.
But it’s Easter weekend and I have children, and I already feel a sense of duty to try and maintain some sense of normalcy while the brown boxes stack up and every time they turn around more of their possessions are ‘missing’.
Though, according to the Gort ‘we really haven’t packed that much,’ which is what he told his grandparents today. Part of me felt outraged that he hadn’t noticed all I’d done. And the other part of me felt pleased that, to him, it seemed like his home was still fairly intact. It is, after all, what I was trying to do: pack up our belongings while making it look like I wasn’t really packing up our belongings.Sort of like a movie set.
But this was about my rocking Friday night, sitting at the table with a dozen eggs in a cardboard box beside me; forcing a stream of egg yolk through a millimeter-wide opening. I watched a movie to pass the time. [Am I the only who, upon reading the notes at the end of the movie, wondered if the main character had done any good at all?] And, after an hour, when I’d managed to empty twelve eggs, I was so tired I watched another movie. Which – in my depleted-of-oxygen-to-the-brain state – I confess I liked. Afterwards, I scoured the French credits to get some details about one of the songs in the film. [Which, much to the boys’ chagrin, I played at least five times today.]
For reasons I can’t explain, all four of the Johnson boys are rather enamored with the coloring of Easter eggs. Which, I suppose, is the reason, I keep risking brain damage year after year. So this morning I covered the table in newspaper, set out containers of blue, green and orange dye and various add-ons like kosher salt, crayons, glitter glue and white glue.
Roughly two point three seconds into the process, we had a crier. ‘Someone’ had opted to cover their egg in glue without realizing they’d have to wait for the glue to dry. Gratification delayed. No coloring for you! (Not now, anyway.)
But after that initial hiccup (err, fifteen-minute-screamfest), things progressed rather smoothly.
Aside from young Percy’s newfound obsession with coloring eggs – with the professor’s assistance he dipped every single egg in at least three colors. He started out with lovely jewel-toned eggs which gradually turned into mossy greenish blue eggs. And also, he was doing his two year old best to steal everyone else’s un-dyed eggs. Which went over a treat with his older brothers.
We managed to get through the experience without spilling food coloring onto the beige carpet and without breaking any eggs. Though the Hen did knock one of his eggs onto the chair and there was a slight cracking sound and that’s how we knew it was time to call it a day.
Afterwards, I made strawberry shortcake. It’s one of the professor’s favorite desserts – (really, any kind of bread-base with fruit and (ice) cream topping) and I figured it was sort of Easter-y. And since the boys would spend the bulk of Sunday emptying plastic Easter eggs of their sugary contents, it made sense to make (and consume) the dessert the day before.
I am remarkably skilled at justifying the consumption of dessert. As is, young Percy. Who ate his entire portion, yelled for more and – upon being told there was no more – chased after his father.
Who had run off into the bedroom/office with the last helping of dessert.