Still, in an effort to make memories, I forged ahead.
It started off well. Then, the independence factor crept in and took hold, and he wanted to do it all by himself. I attempted to let loose, really I did, and let him handle it by himself. But the dye... oh, the dye. And I am NOT a neat freak (anyone who has been to my house and seen the three-day old smushed peas on the floor knows this). But I AM a dye-splatter on the walls kind of freak.
He worked himself up into a frenzy, and then he started throwing the eggs. And because I am terrible cook, and cannot boil eggs... I soon realized that the eggs were soft-boiled. A nice touch.
Poor buddy. I am at a loss for words. I want him to enjoy these things, but I am completely lost. Maybe I should have done the eggs outside, let him drink the dye and not worry about it? Maybe...
The screams, oh, the Talented Screams. That dear boy.
Stella watched the spectacle in wonder, held an egg quietly with Daddy. (She later threw a fit when she wanted more snacks, but I was tired of the camera at this point). I am hoping that she is not taking these cues from him. I really am not sure if I can do the eggstravaganza again next year, with the same results, different kiddo.
We are heading down to my parents' house this weekend in Savannah. I think we should dye eggs there, and let Mia and Papa experience it.
I cannot wait to see my family on the home turf. But I dread taking the circus on the road. I need to start packing: kibbles for the tigers, whip, top hat and show suit, organ, tight-rope and monkeys. Check, check, check.
On second thought, perhaps: vodka, crack, vicotin and straitjacket. Wait, no. I do not know where to get crack... strike that one. Just kidding, Mom. But I wouldn't mind a nice big bottle (er, I'll even take a box at this point) of white wine.
Love to you all, and Happy Easter!