Dying Eggs

I told myself to chill.  I told myself to give up the mommy control.  That this whole Easter egg dying thingiemajigger is about the process, the experience, not the end product.

I think it might have been one of the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

You know how in your mind, everything works out?  You plan.  You think.  You attempt to avoid catastrophes.

I had it under control.  Sort of.  I put her in play clothes.  I planned to go outside.   She was to sit on a towel.  I had my camera ready.   All the supplies were ready to go.  The glasses were heavy as not to be knocked over easily.  I had a whisk ready to hold the egg all neat and tidy.   I had my almost 14 year old niece to assist (ha!).  I was relaxed.  I was ready.  Sort of.

And then we started making the egg dye water and Emma Kate got the food coloring open when I turned my back for maybe 2 minutes to consult the directions.  (If you know me at all, you know I am not a whiz in the kitchen and yes, I need directions to color water).


I told myself that wasn’t a big deal.  It would wear off.  Just keep calm and color eggs.  So with Ash’s help, we got the glasses of colored water ready, we got the camera, we got the towel, the eggs, the whisk, the carton, oh and don’t forget the baby, does somebody have the baby?  We went out to a sunshiny spot in the yard.

And that’s when I no longer had it under control.  EK didn’t sit on the towel calmly like my mind told me she would.  She didn’t use the whisk like it was intended.  She stood and she chunked eggs in glasses with the force of a major league ball pitcher.  Water splashed, she oohed and aahed, she reached in with both hands, grabbing eggs out of water cups, cramming them on top of other eggs in other cups, taking cracked, shattered eggs and breaking them apart like she was ready to scramble them up.  She cheered herself on, throwing them down when she was done, picking them up again, wet and covered in grass and dirt, putting them in her mouth.

Okay, okay,  I repeated to myself.  Everything’s okay, I tried reassuring myself as I tried taking pictures of this train wreck while avoiding a standing baby falling on top of the glasses, squatting and knocking things over, all the while my “assistant”  Ashlynn decided to bring out nail polish and paint her eggs literally, and just to be sure that you know, nail polish has no appeal to a baby!!!!  Hahahahaha!

We ended up with a cracked, shattered mess of muckledydunn eggs, nail polish on our hands, clothes, and mouth, grass and dirt debris galore, and  an experience.  The jury is still out on whether or not it was a good experience.

I know what she learned, however.  She learned whenever she sees an egg, and remember we have chickens, if she ever gets her hands on it, she will slam it into the ground like a ball.

And it will all be okay, (trying to convince myself).













What Crazy Must Feel Like

There are three days left in the month of March.  I haven’t blogged all month.  I won’t even pretend to act like I’m not aware of that.  Every day I say to myself, “I need to blog.  I want to blog.  I wish I could blog.”  When I don’t blog, it’s not the same in my world.

I’ve had a super busy month and I’ve had a super case of anxiety of which I can’t explain.

I found myself in the bathtub at 3:00 a.m. the other night, unable to sleep, tormented when I found sleep by my dreams of fighting for my life, awakening to the feeling of the bed floating while I lay under my blue and white comforter, but at the same time I was looking down from outer space onto the sphere of the earth with all the blues and greens, and seeing myself lying on my bed, and my bed being lifted off the world, right off the continent of North America, into the dark abyss of the unknown where I would be hurled and spin out of control with no way of reaching my bedroom again.

And then I was being pumped up, like an exercise ball.  Puff, puff, puff.  With every puff of air I became a little head and two little arms and legs on a huge round body.  Like that blueberry-gum chewing girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  I wrapped my arms around my literal self to convince my mind it wasn’t happening, but couldn’t.  I was going to explode.  I was a humongous bubble.  Any puff might be the one that stretches the limit and causes the explosion.  But instead of the fruit of goodness, kindness, patience, love, joy, peace, and gentleness that should burst forth were I to explode, there would be anger, rage, resentment and jealousy and all the ugly things that fill me.   I imagined all the onlookers, all the ones who know me, standing in my bedroom gawking at the aftermath of my demise.  Staring as the ugly insides of me oozed down the wall and dripped from the ceiling.  They wouldn’t find a drop of goodness, not even a drop of blueberry juice.  Wow, they would think.  How could one person be filled with all that ugliness.

The beginning of crazy, I thought.  This is the beginning of me losing my ever loving mind.  This must be what crazy people feel like.  I saw myself a bag lady, pushing my shopping cart, wearing three coats in summer, with six cats piled on my shoulders and head, mumbling to myselves.  And then I began to worry about who will take care of my baby if I lose my mind, which caused more anxiety.  So I got out of bed and I did some normal things.  I took a bath, then I did a load of laundry, and sat on the couch drinking hot mint tea while the rest of my house slumbered in peaceful darkness oblivious to the lunatic living inside the same four walls.  And I recited the scripture, “For you have not been given a spirit of fear, but one of power, and love, and a sound mind.”  A Sound Mind! A SOUND mind.  A  sound MIND.  I recited it over and over.  I have a sound mind.  The Peace of God filled me, held me, and calmed me.

Then I blamed my craziness on my supper not settling well, too much gas and bloat, and I got a grip.  And finally I went back to bed knowing I don’t ever want to experience that again, but it wasn’t a total waste.  At least I got a load of laundry done.