Eggzactly

Easter looms just around the corner, and this year? I'm determined to get it right. I think I've finally got the hang of egg boiling - yes, I admit, I can bake circles around Martha Stewart, whip up a 5 course meal using only the items in my pantry, a toaster oven and a microwave, diaper a child on the move without once slowing them down - but I cannot apparently, under any circumstance, boil an egg.

However, I think the boil has come full circle: there are really no other "mishaps" to be had with eggs. I think I've done them all.

Lesson #1: The Much Dreaded Second Boil: where yes, I've re-boiled already dyed eggs, upon discovering they weren't all the way hard as they should be (amazing what you find out when your dane eats one right off the counter) negating any possibility of eating them on Easter morning.

Lesson #2: a personal favorite, as I'd spent quite a bit of time on the prep...checked that I'd bought enough eggs before everyone was out, looked up the recipe to boil eggs (I shit you not), laid out the supplies, made the colors in cups the kids could get their wee hands into only to find that idiocy arrives at Easter right on time - I boiled brown eggs for dying, completely oblivious they were indeed brown until I'd already announced to two small children it was time to do eggs.

Pathetic that a 2 and 4 year old broke it to me: you cannot dye brown eggs.

Lesson #3: arrived on Easter morning itself, upon discovering great danes will indeed eat all eggs stupidly hidden by Easter Bunny in the middle of the night, in preparation of an early Easter morning. Even the innards of baskets and plastic eggs. Like stickers. Temporary tattoos. Sidewalk chalk. Bubbles. Easter grass wrapped around any candy that might have been present.

This year, I think I've got it down. Baskets are nearly ready to go, not just mine, but J's too - I got a wee tad carried away with all the cutie Easter stuff in the $1 section at Target - I love the $1 aisle!! - my egg boiling recipe at the ready, sea salt on hand, baby sized hand made drying rack at the ready. Dying kit to be picked up, along with all the items I saw in the William's Sonoma catalog to make really fabulous looking eggs - somehow, I think I know that the decoupage eggs won't happen, but you know, just in case J decides to get All Creative on me, I'm ready.

Eggs won't be hidden until just shy of say, 6am; Pucker Up will remain under lock and key until eggs are found. Having a hound led by her nose around actually is a plus - I'll not have a repeat of the much dreaded Lesson #4 - One Egg MIA. Found off the coast of the playroom, six months later, by inquisitive child who then cracked open offending egg.

Offensive it was. For weeks the smell lingered. Gah.

Mag's and I actually managed to blow eggs - the only thing either of us will blow, fyi - it only took a half dozen or so before we got it right. Too much pressure of the ear wax blowy thing(Mag's swears it's a nasal aspirator, like the ones they send home from the hospital for your wee one, not that anyone ever sticks that thing up their babes nose) either way? It blows the ass right out the egg; not enough agitation leaves yolk too intact, leading to egg ass blowing as well. Upon finally getting it right - yeah us!! - we then realized, much to our dismay, that yes, we've a repeat of Lesson #2: fucking brown eggs. Mag's and I agree - no more buying of brown eggs - let's face it, brown just looks dirty. And the fucker's won't die - er, dye. Yes. That's what we meant.

Sadly, I realized we've been upstaged by the I Swear He's Not Gay boyfriend, who tells me nonchalantly, that he has indeed, blown eggs before. Successfully. Bastard. Like he needed to rub that in - to top it off? He wasn't even married at the time, leading me to wonder, WTF was he blowing eggs for? I suppose, perhaps, the twins.

Still. Everyone knows we do not allow children to dye blown eggs.

As H proved. He cracked my one and only successfully blown egg only to tell me it was empty. No shit sherlock. I'd only spent a half hour or so with Maggie, being totally grossed out by egg goo leaking out the end like snot from a babies nose, and he goes and cracks it. Like he couldn't tell from picking it up that there was nothing inside? Nope.

Granted, it was brown. Thus, dirty. And undyable.

What have we learned? Simple: Maggie and I suck at eggs, we hate brown ones, and apparently? Lovely J is way better at Easter than I am.

Therefore.

I'll handle the shopping for the baskets, I'll hide eggs, I'll bake the dessert, to have with Creepy Aunt H; but I defer the remainder of Easter to those in the know. Lovely Jonathan.

He can buy the eggs, boil the eggs, dye the fucking eggs, and I'll hide them.

And I'll take the credit for the one Easter I've finally managed to pull off.

And there you have it.