After such lost time, I am mad at myself for squandering the precious moments I could have used cleaning my house (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! yeah, right!). Sometimes, though, there are projects, recipes or ideas that are practical, fun and creative.
One of those projects that I recently completed was a cooking project. Shop and prep once, and 11 meals are in the fridge and freezer, ready for harried moments when fast food beckons.
I did this on Monday night, chopped, mixed and stirred myself into a stocked freezer. If the recipes taste good, I am starting a new meal plan at the ol’ Evans Casa. The one meal I made and didn’t freeze, the balsamic onion roast, was delicious. I am optimistic about the rest.
Anyway, the reason I delve so deeply into the Pinterest discussion is that it afforded the Fam and I a new Easter egg dying experience. I found an idea to dye the eggs with Kool-Aid. Yup, Kool-Aid. The same Kool-Aid that stains lips, tongues, clothes and fingers. Can’t miss, right?
Right.
I went to the store and procured five packets of Kool-Aid in various colors. Much to my chagrin, there were no green or blue varieties in this particular store.
I decided it was not worth an extra store run, but anticipated the comments from my ever-verbal offspring. Oh, well. With gas at $4.00 a gallon and my behemoth sucking down plenty with each trip, I decided to take my chances on the derogatory comments from the younglings.
While a softball practice was winding down and everyone was out of the house, I got a head start on the project and started the eggs boiling. This was not really a good kiddo step anyway.
By the time they got home and cleaned up, there were 24 boiled, cooled and dry eggs sparkling white in a bowl for their pleasure.
“Are you sure they are all the way cooked? Last year they weren’t all the way cooked.”
Why, thank you for remembering, my precious middle child!
“Daddy, maybe you should check and see if they are cooked all the way.”
Ah, the faith of a little child…
My hubby checked the test egg, ignoring my stare, and discovered that the eggs were cooked all the way. Bonus points for me.
I disclosed at this point that we were deviating from the normal dying plan. They all decided they wanted to drink the Kool-Aid instead. I pointed out that it was so concentrated that they would gag and they decided to hold off. Besides, I bought extra to drink for later. More Bonus points for me.
“Where’s the green?”
Ah, the oldest struck an early blow.
“They were out of green,” I said.
“Where’s the blue?”
“They were out of blue.”
“Huuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
The great exhale of the exasperated child. So mournful. So sad. So ineffective.
We had yellow, pink, purple, red and orange. And, I had a secret weapon they weren’t expecting. The white crayon! Four white crayons, to be precise. More on them later.
I filled cups with warm water and they took turns dumping in the Kool-Aid and stirring. Soon we were at the table staring to dunk our eggs.
I snuck out the white crayon and wrote a message on the side. Then I dunked it in its red bath. I pulled it out and voila! There were words!
I snuck out the white crayon and wrote a message on the side. Then I dunked it in its red bath. I pulled it out and voila! There were words!
“Yours has words on it!” said the youngest in a very excited voice.
“Yeah, she used a crayon,” said the oldest, spoiling the magic.
“Was that crayon non-toxic?” asked the middle child.
“Sigh.”
The small exhale of the exasperated mother. So small. So sad. So ineffective.
Moving on to full-blown coloring time. The girls all grabbed crayons and started making ghost messages as well as colorful ones. The youngest covered an egg in a riot of crayon lines and several Kool-Aid colors. “Mine’s wicked!” She was very proud.
The middle child was so sweet and diplomatic, as many middle children are wont to be. “We should each make one and give it to the Easter Bunny to keep.” Awwwwww!
My hubby made an egg and then lifted it out of the dye to reveal the design. “Daddy made a baseball egg!”
The youngest dipped hers in red and purple and declared, “I am making a maroon egg for Texas A&M!” Gotta love that kid!
The yellow (lemonade) did not dye the eggs much past a pale, pale lemon color. It also etched the shells and pitted the surface with the extra acid. The youngest declared, “I guess that’s why the yellow doesn’t work very well, because it tastes better than it colors.” Can’t argue with infallible logic.
The oldest was looking at me out the corner of her eyes. “Why are you writing down all the random things we say?”
Busted.
“I am going to blog about this,” I explained.
“Do you always write down what we say?”
“Ummmm… sometimes,” I said. “Later, when you are all grown up, I will have this wonderful memory to share with you and I want to capture exactly what you all sounded like at this age.”
“Oh,” she said. That was it, back to dying the eggs. I guess it was a good explanation-motherly.
In the end, we had 23 colored eggs, many with ghost messages, many with crazy colors, and all smelling fruity and looking like Easter. We will do this again next year, but I will definitely find green and blue!
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| Most of our collective bounty! |
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