It’s that time of year. The grass is finally green again, trees are budding, flowers are starting to bloom. Spring is in the air. But what is that smell?
Ah yes, boiled eggs.
It is said that in medieval Europe, beautifully decorated eggs were given as gifts. I am guessing that back then, the smell blended in and no one took offense. Why this tradition started, I have no idea, but its something few of us can avoid during this vibrantly fragrant time of year.
(Yes this is all going somewhere).
Today we dyed eggs. I like to think that I have done my part to carry on the Easter
For most people, this may not seem like a big deal. And really it’s not. But in my house most projects turn into major events.
As a mother I have learned to take art projects of any kind done with my children, in stride. I am a bit of an
control freak idealist when it comes to crafty undertakings. Countless times I have taken over one of my children’s projects. But as I have fine tuned my parenting skills, I have learned to let go of my ideals and what I think the outcome should be. Who cares if craft eyes are glued on where the mouth should be, if they mix all the finger paints and make brown soup over the beautiful flower they just painted or that a “portrait” they are so proud of looks more like Sigmund the Sea Monster then me.
I have learned that the less I fret over them, the more fun we all have. And the outcome? Beautiful works of art that I will treasure forever.
So when my 4-year-old Picasso wanted to dye eggs today, I knew I needed to step back and let him do it HIS way.
Beautiful aren’t they? And all I did was boil the eggs and open the packets of dye.