Beyond dyeing eggs

Happy Easter. Our Lord is risen! Halleluia!

I haven't forgotten the real reason for Easter, and I've done my best to remind my kids. But that doesn't mean we haven't taken part in all the traditions connected with the Easter bunny.

A few days ago, we finally got around to decorating Easter eggs. Most people, myself included, dye their hard boiled eggs. But with my kids, this year, dyeing was just the beginning.

They dipped, and a few times dropped, their eggs in the various cups of dye.

AJ actually seemed surprised to discover his technique resulted in as much dye on his fingers as on the eggs.

Sydney was a bit more careful/anal about it. Each time she pulled an egg from the dye, she quickly dried with with a paper towel. She also had a tendency to re-dye any eggs that she felt didn't have enough color.

Once the eggs were colored, the real fun started. AJ decided to tape pieces of paper towel to his creations, turning them into Super Eggies!

Sydney, meanwhile, belatedly discovered one of the extra features in the egg-dyeing kit. Glue and sequins. Good thing she'd dried all the eggs. She had much more work to do!

As impressed as I was with myself for successfully hard boiling the eggs this year, I'm even more impressed with the fact that only one egg got cracked during the decorating process.

And now we'll see how quickly I can eat all of the eggs. Because unless anyone's taste buds have changed in the last year, I'll be the only one eating them.

The difference between boys and girls: the sneak factor

Barbie's out of the closet. She won't be coming out of the box at our house. She will be going back to the store.

And Sydney is learning a painful but important lesson.

Barbie was going to be the centerpiece of Sydney's Easter basket. Instead the doll will forever be a reminder of why you don't snoop when mommy tells you not to.

And it's one more reminder for me of how very different my children are. Mars vs. Venus. Dogs vs. cats. Boy child versus girl child.

I've always stored gifts in my closet. It's a big walk-in (more accurately, walk-through) closet between our bedroom and bathroom. At Christmas time it's no secret there are gifts there. I cover up and stack high the kids' presents, but many other packages end up piled on the floor.

Last Christmas, AJ happened to walk into the closet looking for me. He spotted a gift for a friend's son (the colors and fonts on the package made it obvious it was a gift for a young boy) and came rushing out, covering his eyes as if he'd just stared too long at the sun. "Mom!" He immediately confessed, "I think I might have just seen a present for me." When I figured out what he was talking about and told him it wasn't a present for him, the relief on his face was evident.

That's how AJ is.

And then there's Sydney.

Sydney, I caught Friday, standing on a stool to peer inside closet doors in search of the suspected Barbie toy. It should be noted she moved aside a laundry basket of clothes that had been positioned in front of the closet doors.

How did she know to even look there? And what has she seen in there before?

Earlier Friday, we'd gone shopping as a family. Jeff and I had it all plotted out: we'd shop together initially, then he'd watch the kids in the toy section while I picked up some items needed by the Easter Bunny. Jeff would then treat the kids to "slushies" while I went through the check out line.

All was proceeding as planned until I happened to spot a really cute dress for Sydney and pulled her aside to hold it up for her. My way-too-observant daughter did a quick turn and, through the slots in the side of the cart, spotted and immediately recognized the Barbie packaging.

"Is there something in there for me?" She immediately asked.

Quickly bumping the cart to send frozen pizzas over the goodies I didn't want her to see, I lied. "Nope, nothing for you."

"I thought I saw a Barbie."

"I told you we're not getting any toys today." I then tried distracting her with the dress. It mostly worked, though she continued to sneak glances at the cart.

When we got home, I immediately took the bag with Easter treats into my closet. We have one section of closets with mirrored doors, and it was there that I stuck the bag. It's separate from the area where Christmas presents are stacked.

The rest of the shopping bags got dumped on the kitchen counter. Sydney wandered through, "Are you sure you didn't get me a Barbie?"

"Go look in the bags," I gestured toward the counter. "They're right there."

Of course she looked. And found nothing.

A little while later, I started vacuuming. (We just bought a new Dyson. Very exciting. And disgusting to see how much pet hair our old vacuum had not been sucking up.) Sydney interrupted me to ask if she could look at my bottles of nail polish.

Odd request. And suspicious. The nail polish is stored behind the same mirrored closet doors where I'd just stuck the toys.

"Maybe later," I told her. "Your nail polish is in your bathroom. Why don't you go look at that?"

I continued vacuuming. Sydney continued watching TV. Or so I thought. I happened to walk into my room, and that's when I discovered Sydney peeking in the closet.

Using lines I usually reserve for the dog, I shouted, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SHAME ON YOU!"

Sydney immediately started sobbing. "I'm sorry!" She cried, reaching out her arms for a comforting hug.

There would be none of that.

"YOU GET DOWN, NOW, AND GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

More sobs and more apologies, but she did as she was told. I let her cry for at least 10 minutes while I went back to vacuuming. (It really is a cool new vacuum. And yes, I'm a dork for being this excited.)

At one point, over the sound of the vacuum, I heard her wail, "I'M A BAD GIRL!"

Jeff volunteered to go in and talk with her, after which she emerged and gave me a hug, repeating her apologies.

And then I waited. It took about five minutes for her to summon the courage to ask the question I knew would be coming.

"Do I still get the Barbie?"

"No," I said. "It's going back to the store because you did a naughty thing."

The easy solution would be to give the Barbie to her anyway. Let her think that the Easter bunny gave it to her. It'd save me a trip back to the store.

Clearly, a similar thought occurred to her. Sydney asked this morning if we were bringing the doll back to the store today. "Yup," I told her.

"Can I get another one some other Easter?" she asked hopefully.

"I don't know. We'll see," I told her.

"Maybe the Easter bunny will bring me a Barbie," a note of hope creeped into her voice.

"I don't think so," I said. "He probably heard what you did."

"Mo-om," she said, stretching my title into a two syllable word, "The Easter bunny isn't like Santa. He doesn't have a list. Santa doesn't even know the Easter bunny," she continued, but a seed of doubt had been planted.

Barbie will be going back. And Sydney will be with me when I make the return. Part of me hopes the store clerk asks for the reason for the return. It'll be interesting to hear what Sydney tells her.

How does your garden grow?

We have signs of life! Look closely. Four for four! In each cup, seeds are sprouting from the soil. And that's after just 72 hours.

Of intense prayer.

Sydney and I went shopping last Monday, visiting the not so new anymore Bed, Bath and Beyond store in Duluth. On a related note, I learned Monday that B, B and B does not enforce a "you break it, you buy it" policy, thank goodness! Sydney got a little excited when she saw a toothbrush holder made to look like flip flop sandals sticking out of a sandy beach.

We did buy a non-broken version of the tooth brush holder. But even more exciting than that, we bought... drum roll please... a mini greenhouse. Very, very mini. But it comes with everything you could need to grow four kinds of flowers, except a garden to transplant them to later. And in our case, a fence to surround said garden to protect the flowers from rabbits and deer.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, we need to get these seeds to grow.

I set up the greenhouse (the hardest part of the process) and let Sydney cut open the "Gro-Mix" packets.

She then dumped each one into the "Gro-Pod Containers." (Some lawyer for Miracle-Gro has been busy. All of the "Gro" labels have been trademarked.)

Next, we add Gro-Water. Not really. Regular tap water seems to do the trick. A little too well. Time for mommy to run for towels. I should have noticed the drainage holes in the bottom of the Gro-Pod Containers.

Stir it up. The addition of water makes the Gro-Mix triple in size.

At last we added the seeds and tiny stakes to remind us what we should be seeing. (Hopefully, sunflowers, marigolds and red and coral zinnias.)

Within a matter of minutes, Sydney was asking when her flowers were going to start growing. She was pretty disappointed that it wouldn't happen before bedtime.

The last few days have been sunny, so we've been setting the greenhouse on our patio table during the day, and then bringing it inside when the temperatures drop at night. So far so good. In fact, we might have to go back and pick up the other version of the kit - vegetables. AJ doesn't understand the purpose of growing something you can't eat. And we'd talked last fall about planting a vegetable garden this year. This just might be how we get it started.

Creative eggscellence

Sometimes the best way to boost my kids' creativity is to just say no.

"Mama, can we make our eggs yet?" Sydney asked for the 437th time since we bought an egg dying kit earlier in the afternoon.

"No," I told her. "We'll do it a different day."

(Someday I'll admit to hear that the real reason I was stalling on the project was I needed to figure out how to hard boil eggs. The online instructions for "perfect hard boiled eggs" that I followed last year yielded less that perfect results.)

And so Sydney let her imagination loose, figuring what kind of eggs she could decorate by herself.

As I worked on cooking supper, she went to work gathering paper, markers, stencils and other supplies, and then began drawing oblong shapes (anything remotely oval is an egg in her world), tracing patterns with the stencils and then cutting them out.

I'm not sure if it's a sign of her increasing attention to detail or interest in her work, but lately I've noticed her tendency to let her tongue hang out when her creative juices are flowing.

One thing that hasn't changed is her desire to display her work when it's done. Her discovery of the tape dispenser means her gallery now includes the entire house. No more is she restricted by the number of magnets and space on the refrigerator. Now I find her masterpieces taped to doors, walls and even the entertainment center. I've carefully checked to make sure the tape isn't damaging the surface underneath, and so far there've been no problems. And then, within a couple days the art work disappears into the recycling bin.

Why does this process work? Two common phrases come to mind: Out of sight, out of mind. And there's plenty more where that came from.

There's a sucker born every minute

I can only imagine the messages circulating via twitter the last few days. No, not that Twitter feed. I'm talking about the tweets of the robins and sparrows that have re-inhabited our yard now that winter seems to have passed.

#easytarget: check out the big red dog that goes nuts every time I fly by the door. 

It's worth the extra fly time to reach his back yard #bonuspointsifhebarks.

#workseverytime: Such a rookie! He runs and jumps, but never comes close. 

Gus has never been a fan of going outside alone. What's the point of that if no one wants to play with him?

But all that changed a couple days ago. Suddenly he was whimpering at the door to go outside, and then within a minute or two would be back at the door wanting to come inside. And then a few minutes later the process would begin again.

Initially, I figured he wasn't feeling well. But then I took a moment to follow his gaze. Birds! Sometimes they were brazen enough to land in the backyard. Other times they perched on the fence. How dare they?!?

Not on his watch! My brave bird dog chases the horrible yard invaders off his property. Phew! What would we do without him?

And then, just when he thought it couldn't get any more traumatic, Gus spotted a rabbit on the other side of the fence. That's just cruel!

It's going to be a long summer (we can only hope.) Now let's keep our fingers crossed that Gus doesn't actually catch something before colder temperatures roll around again.

Mealtime conversations

Studies have shown that when families eat dinners together, the kids are less likely to drink alcohol, smoke or do drugs. They'll have a healthier weight and self esteem, and earn better grades. And in the case of my kids, they're also far more likely to say something entertaining.

Yesterday at breakfast, Sydney said something goofy that I didn't entirely understand. I could tell by her giggle that she thought she was being clever, and so I responded, "Are you trying to trick me?"

"April fools!" she announced victoriously.

"But it's not April Fool's Day anymore, " I burst her bubble (or so I thought.) "Today's April second."

Undeterred, she proclaimed in the same sing-song voice, "April second!"

At dinner, the kids had already sat down in their places as I was dishing up food and carrying things to the table. I could hear metal clanking and turned to see they were jousting with their forks.

"Knock it off," I ordered.

Both kids immediately set down their silverware weapons, but I could tell by the look on AJ's face he didn't think he deserved to be in trouble. And so I continued, "What do you suppose would have happened if you'd done that in the school lunchroom?"

AJ's eyes widened for the briefest of moments as he considered the implications. Mr. Realist then answered, "The sporks would have broken by now. They're not so strong."

Hosanna, save me!

Sydney was very excited about Palm Sunday. Not because she's thinking about the significance of the start of Holy Week, but because it's always fun to walk through church with a palm branch. (AJ, as he does every year, grumbled about having to do it. Until he was handed a palm branch. Then all was good.)

As an added bonus this year, I was one of the narrators for the choir cantata, which meant the kids got to sit with me in the church balcony. The novelty of that was beyond exciting! We talked about all of this ahead of time: They would walk with the other kids. AJ would be in charge of keeping an eye on Sydney. They'd, sit up front for the children's sermon. And then, when it was done, they'd quietly walk up the steps to the balcony.

The service started. From my perch, high above the sanctuary, I watched the kids file in. Lots of kids.

None of them mine.

Just about the time I started to get nervous, Sydney and AJ at last appeared, bringing up the rear of the line.

They made it to the front, and immediately I got nervous. Of all the kids up there, why did my two have to end up front and center? Who thought that would be a good idea?

The pastor told all the kids to sit down and invited any other kids in the congregation to also come forward. At last he started the message. "What is special about this day?" He asked the kids.

And that's when my little sweetheart (the female one) shouted out loudly and clearly enough that I could hear her way up in the balcony, "It's April Fool's Day!"

I'd been bracing myself for AJ to do something embarrassing. Sense of habit I guess. Plus, I'd already heard the children's sermon during the first service, and knew the pastor was going to make an analogy comparing the cheers that welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem to the cheers of sports fans. The pastor had used the example of cheering for our local high school team and cheering for the Minnesota Gophers. I figured AJ would have to blurt out something about the Bulldogs being better. But amazingly, AJ held his tongue.

At last the laughter over Sydney's comment died down, and the pastor regained his composure. He continued with the message that the translation of Hosanna means "Save us".

How fitting.