Yesterday was a rather cool spring day for this time of year. When I picked the kids up from pre-school at noon I was trying to think of something to do with them for the afternoon that didn’t involve spending the entire afternoon outside, as most of our endeavors tend to do.
I came up with the perfect idea. On the way home we stopped at the Super Wal-Mart, and picked up some Easter egg dye. Each child got to pick their own design.
The kids were very excited when we got home.
They didn’t want to wait for the eggs to cook. But I made them.
When the eggs were finally done we cooled them off.
I only put this picture in because I thought it looked so cool…..like it was black and white, though it wasn’t. It also made my kitchen sink look super shiny. It wasn’t either.
While the eggs had been cooking to a perfect hard-boil, I set up the egg coloring station.
I admit it. I was pretty proud of myself. I watched the front walkway surreptitiously for the presenters of the “Mother of the Year Award.” Yep, I was good.
The kids colored their eggs.
They are such angels.
I sighed with happiness. What a perfect pre-holiday afternoon.
The eggs turned out perfectly. Oh, what a day.
The kids got their Easter (as far as they knew) baskets, filled them carefully with the colored eggs and headed outside so I could hide them.
It was little bright for Zach.
Notice Annabelle’s blue hand. She wasn’t big on the little wire thingy you are supposed to use to get the eggs out of the dye.
I hid the eggs artfully.
The kids made a cursory hunt for the eggs, then they saw Grandpa Vernon across the lawn. They abandoned all unfound eggs. They ran for him.
They love Vernon more than me.
We all visited for awhile, then, content that the Mother of the Year Award was still well within my grasp, I went into the house to clean up the egg mess.
The kids stayed outside to hide the eggs for each other. They were very quiet. I went out to see what they were doing.
I saw this.
I knew my beloved Batman was doing one of two things. But as I drew closer, I saw that he didn’t need his pull up changed.
He was peeling and eviscerating the eggs. One by one.
My perfectly cooked, carefully colored and artfully photographed eggs. All in a little, torn up pile in the bottom of his little Halloween/Easter basket.
His sister was doing the same thing. Her pieces were even smaller.
I sighed to myself. The Mother of the Year Committee was not going to like this.
I told the kids to go and dump the eggs into the outside trash, so we wouldn’t have to smell them, and, more importantly, I wouldn’t have to see the sad, desecrated remains of my pre-Easter celebration staring me in the face.
I went back in the house.
I didn’t see the kids over near the dumpster. I went out the back door to check on them again.
This is what I saw.
My two little angelic youngsters were crouched beside the back yard fence. Through which they were feeding the eggs to the dogs. My thoughtfully planned, carefully colored eggs. TO. THE. DOGS.
The dogs looked very happy.
I just turned and walked away.
And had one thought.
I sure am glad I am not the one the dogs sleep with at night.