Egg-cellent Easter

This weekend, while dying Easter eggs, I discovered something about La. I’ll get to that in a minute. First, take a gander at this sweet little princess:



Mind you, she has looked forward to dying eggs FOR A FULL YEAR. Every holiday that approaches; 4th of July, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Yom Kippur … comes with this question: “Do we get to dye Easter eggs? Can we? Can we? Please! Please! PLEASE!” and is followed up with tears when I say, “No, sweetheart – it’s not Easter yet.” Talk about desperation.

So, the holiday finally rolled around, and La and I bought some Easter egg dye (2 packages). I promptly boiled eggs at her command and we dropped the dye tablets from the first package into the vinegar and watched them fizz.

Now for the discovery: As we sat down to perform the art of coloring eggs, I began to notice a change in the demeanor of my sweet, lovable La. She went from angelic, happy, so excited to dye eggs … in a flash … to crazy Nazi egg-lady with the rigid nature of the Gestapo, determined to have the dying done the RIGHT WAY or not at all. Talk about a control freak.

When I tried to make a two-toned Easter egg, I got the evil eye and the “You can’t do it like that!” speech from miss La. A friend was over, and unfortunately was not spared the lecture from the Egg Master Herself. Got a firm talking-to over an attempted double-dunk. Double-dunking is a no-no in La’s book, unless she’s the one performing the act.

That was Saturday.

Sunday, my parents were in town for Easter. Oh happy day. Until it was time to dye Easter eggs again. Aunt M was happily dunking her single egg (all that she was allotted by the Egg Queen), when she decided that a two-toned egg would be quite nice. I didn’t warn her of the consequences. Rather, I just sat and watched the drama unfold. As M dangled her egg halfway into another color, a deep roar came out of my child’s belly, a holler I’ve never heard before. Which lead to a full minute-long stare-down between the two of them. It all ended with La coming to her senses and saying, “M, you can put it in this one if you want” while pointing her finger sternly at a color M did not intend to use. M obediently dropped the egg in La’s chosen color. Defeated. By a 4-year old. Wearing a tu-tu.

It’s okay, M … We’ve all been there.