Easter Eggs

Dave and I were kind of crap at Easter this year. We just were. Our intentions were good, but the execution left something to be desired. Cases in point:

The filling of the plastic eggs with candy.

After we finished coloring the regular made-of-egg eggs, RockNoodle asked us whether there would be plastic eggs filled with candy as well, like last year. Dave answered, "yes, but we have to do it after you guys go to bed." I quickly said, "What daddy meant to say is, perhaps, you'll have to wait and see what the Easter Bunny says." No dummy (but still only seven! sigh....), RockNoodle asked why daddy said the other thing. I said, "Because he's a bad parent." RockNoodle laughed, and asked if she could help me fill the plastic eggs with candy, and assured me that it would be fun, that it wouldn't spoil her Easter at all.

So the two of us sat on my bedroom floor, stuffing plastic eggs with candy. The joys and innocence of childhood be damned.

The hiding and finding of the Easter eggs.

By the time we got the kids off to bed, Dave and I were exhausted. And we had a lot of eggs to hide. Two dozen real, two dozen fake, a few Cadbury Cremes, etc. And we had a lot more house to work with. I love hiding eggs, and I went around after Dave re-hiding his not-sufficiently-hidden eggs. And then promptly forgot about them.

The kids had strict instructions not to wake us before seven (a full two hours earlier than I normally can manage to get up, mind you. Mornings are not my thing), and Dave and I stumbled out of bed and attempted to be Springy and cheery, and to guide the children to our more obscure eggs.

They hunted. We counted. Eggs had gone a-missing. Real, eggy eggs. We set them to hunting some more. They were unsuccessful. We hunted. We were unsuccessful. I spent an inordinate amount of time crawling around on my hands and knees cursing my creative hiding.

Toaster didn't quite understand why this was such an issue. "Because if we don't find the eggs, they will rot and will smell terrible." "Well, then we'll know where they are."

The consuming of the eggs.

We did--finally--find all eggs. Except for one Cadbury Creme which is still lost somewhere in the ether. The kids ate some candy, and we set about cracking a couple of eggs. The plan was we'd eat a few, make deviled eggs (since what else do you do with two dozen hard-boiled eggs?) which all of us except for Dave love and only get to eat once a year. Only when we set them to cracking, an incredibly unappetizing, milky, semen-like substance spilled out. Of each and every one of them.

This was 100% not my fault. This was Dave's fault. He was the boiler. He claims it was Mark Bittman's fault, that he was just following instructions, but since I've long since instructed him to throw How To Cook Everything into the garbage where it belongs (or at least rename it How To Cook Everything So It Tastes Like Ass), I think the fault is entirely Dave's for continuing to use it.

Twenty-four perfectly good, would've been delicious when deviled, eggs went into the garbage.

So yeah. Kind of crap at Easter this year. At least it was a team effort.