The Journey of an Egg, Part I

While drying my hair this morning, crafting this post carefully in my head (the blow dryer is the perfect combination of white noise and mindless activity to spark a touch of creativity), I went from eggs...to religion...back to eggs...to just a teeny tiny combination of both. 

As a non-denominational family, we enjoy the secular aspects of many of the Christian holidays, times for family and creating traditions, especially when children are involved, without placing any emphasis on the day's origin.  I preface this post with this because I think it's important to distinguish the difference between our actions and the true holiday itself, and hypocrisy leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.  At the risk of offending people, I liken those individuals who claim to be a particular religion but don't believe the basic tenets to celebrating St. Patrick's Day and wearing green when you haven't got an Irish bone in your body - drives me nuts...  I don't claim to be any religion, but find beauty and joy in some aspects of each one, appreciating parts of all.  Oops, here I go, starting on the religion stuff...backing down quickly now...

That being said (clearly, I hope), I recall fondly the Easter mornings of my childhood, from the basket filled with green plastic "grass," a chocolate bunny poking his delicious ears through the top, to the hunt for carefully dyed eggs, hidden cleverly throughout the house by my mother (the spider plant in the dining room was always a sure-thing).  A stuffed toy bunny was always part of the annual ritual as well, and I managed to gather quite a herd residing on my bed over the years.

I've been looking forward to dyeing Easter eggs with Samantha for some time now, but haven't yet felt she was ready to handle the responsibility (Read:  adhere to my mess-free, anal-retentive, control-freak tendencies).  This year she was all set, and quite excited to give it a go. 

I love letting her think she's in control.  She loves it, too.  

But I think my strict demands that she not violently shake the cups and spill the lovely color all over the counter turned her off and her excitement quickly waned. Peppa Pig and Max & Ruby were calling once again from the living room, leaving me to finish the job alone.

Perfect in their imperfections.  Simple.  There will be many more years to get creative.

My call of, "Come see the finished eggs!" brought her running back to ooh and ah.  

And I managed to con her back to work. 

Sadly, there is an unfortunate result when a certain someone doesn't listen.  While wrinkles with age are said to add character, an extra crack (or a dozen) does no such thing.