Monday, 6 April 2015

Hippity Hop Hop, here comes the Easter Bunny

I love holidays - all of them. We celebrate every holiday that we have any connection to in our home - Chinese ones, North American ones, Hungarian ones; and if I knew of any Icelandic holidays, we'd celebrate those too. Nothing makes more sense to me than celebrating life- and nothing makes less sense to me than lining the pockets of corporate interests to do so. We tend to try to keep things small at our house, and for Easter, that always means a whole lot of hard-boiled eggs.

Panda and Pickle, making remarkably little mess.

 It's tradition. We did it with my mom, and  and for all I know she did it with hers. In fact, I did it even before I had kids - before I was even married, with room-mates and whoever else I could coerce into it. (Luckily for me, when almost everyone you know attended art college, it isn't too hard to find people willing to draw on stuff.) So, every year on the night before Easter Sunday, we gather our supplies: Wax crayons (washable ones won't work), egg dye (food colouring, vinegar and boiling water), drop cloth, smocks (in theory -we couldn't find any) and hard boiled eggs. Stickers and temporary tattoos are good too.

Finished product
 Once everyone is in bed, the Easter Bunny comes and hides all the eggs around the house. He brings a basket (well, bucket) for each child as well. Bright and early on Sunday morning, happy little bodies tumble out of bed and rush around screaming in delight and trying one-up each other on how many eggs they have found. When all are accounted for* and several have been breakfasted upon, at last it's time to tuck into the Easter basket; chocolate, jelly beans, and a new spring outfit.

the baskets
And that's it, Easter in an eggshell! Now, does anyone have a recipe that calls for sixteen hardboiled eggs?

*Do not forget to count the eggs before the Easter Bunny hides them. A late night and a glass of Cabernet have a way of turning an overlooked egg into a nasty - and stinky - surprise a few weeks down the road. That's also I lesson I learned from my mother.

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