In a fit of holiday delusions I decided to make this Easter an Easter To Remember. Nevermind the fact that Critter is 7 months old and can't remember morning by afternoon. A couple of days prior to the holiday I went out and bought all the ingredients needed for pastel sugar cookies, sprinkle dipped rice krispy treats, and at least five pounds of Hershey eggs and various colored Peeps. On the way to the checkout, my path crossed with a display of egg decorating kits. I spied with my little eye an Egg Painting Kit with Glitter Glue. Cool! The picture on the box was of beautifully hand painted and then glitter sprinkled egg masterpieces. I tossed the kit in the cart and skipped my way to gestational diabetes.
The day before Easter I decided to cook my treats and paint my eggs. The sugar cookies came out just the way I like them: golden on the outside, still kinda squishy on the inside. I rolled out the rice krispy treats and painstakenly used egg and tulip shaped cookie cutters to make take them from regular squares to festive Easter goodies. Then I waddled to the fridge (those cookies and treats needed tasting for goodness, ya know) to pull out the eggs. It was then I realized that in my excitement over the painting kit, I had bypassed the dairy section, and therefore had forgotten to buy eggs. Whoops. I shoved various foodstuffs aside and in the darkest corner of the bottom shelf I found an egg carton containing 10 eggs, stamped with the expiration date April 2. "That's fine," I thought. I'm gonna paint 'em, not eat 'em. And they turned out just like you would expect painted eggs to turn out. That is, nothing like the picture on the box.
But, I had made them for my precious Critter, so I lovingly placed them into his basket. I arranged his other Easter presents around them, grabbed David's basket, and loaded them into the car to take to my mom's house, where we would be celebrating Easter the next day. At my mom's I hid both baskets in the back of the linen closet and then returned home.
The next afternoon, filled with ham, potatoes, and salad, we exchanged baskets. I took a billion pictures of Critter in the yard surrounded by the painted eggs, and then put eggs and basket on the table and promptly forgot about them.
Later that evening, David began complaining of stomach pains, and soon after began spending a lot of time in the bathroom. He made several potty visits through the course of the night, but as he had a big project at work, he had to leave for the office the next morning.
When he left, I went out to the car to bring in the baskets that we'd left there. As I put away Critter's new things, I realized that the basket seemed emptier than it had the previous day. I realized it was because there were only 7 eggs, not 10. I called him. "How are you feeling, honey?" I asked in my sweetest I'm-not-trying-to-kill-you-via-salmonella voice. "Bad," he groaned back at me. "Um, Sweets, I'm missing a couple of those painted eggs from Critter's basket..." I hinted.
"Oh, I ate a couple. That's ok, right? You weren't saving them, were you?"
"No, no, I wasn't saving them, seeing as how they were expired and then spent the night in a linen closet before Easter," I told him pointedly.
"Cool. After I ate them I realized I should've asked you first, so I'm glad you're not mad." He sounded so relived and grateful that I wasn't mad, I didn't have the heart to point out to him that had he asked, maybe he'd still have his insides.
The day before Easter I decided to cook my treats and paint my eggs. The sugar cookies came out just the way I like them: golden on the outside, still kinda squishy on the inside. I rolled out the rice krispy treats and painstakenly used egg and tulip shaped cookie cutters to make take them from regular squares to festive Easter goodies. Then I waddled to the fridge (those cookies and treats needed tasting for goodness, ya know) to pull out the eggs. It was then I realized that in my excitement over the painting kit, I had bypassed the dairy section, and therefore had forgotten to buy eggs. Whoops. I shoved various foodstuffs aside and in the darkest corner of the bottom shelf I found an egg carton containing 10 eggs, stamped with the expiration date April 2. "That's fine," I thought. I'm gonna paint 'em, not eat 'em. And they turned out just like you would expect painted eggs to turn out. That is, nothing like the picture on the box.
But, I had made them for my precious Critter, so I lovingly placed them into his basket. I arranged his other Easter presents around them, grabbed David's basket, and loaded them into the car to take to my mom's house, where we would be celebrating Easter the next day. At my mom's I hid both baskets in the back of the linen closet and then returned home.
The next afternoon, filled with ham, potatoes, and salad, we exchanged baskets. I took a billion pictures of Critter in the yard surrounded by the painted eggs, and then put eggs and basket on the table and promptly forgot about them.
Later that evening, David began complaining of stomach pains, and soon after began spending a lot of time in the bathroom. He made several potty visits through the course of the night, but as he had a big project at work, he had to leave for the office the next morning.
When he left, I went out to the car to bring in the baskets that we'd left there. As I put away Critter's new things, I realized that the basket seemed emptier than it had the previous day. I realized it was because there were only 7 eggs, not 10. I called him. "How are you feeling, honey?" I asked in my sweetest I'm-not-trying-to-kill-you-via-salmonella voice. "Bad," he groaned back at me. "Um, Sweets, I'm missing a couple of those painted eggs from Critter's basket..." I hinted.
"Oh, I ate a couple. That's ok, right? You weren't saving them, were you?"
"No, no, I wasn't saving them, seeing as how they were expired and then spent the night in a linen closet before Easter," I told him pointedly.
"Cool. After I ate them I realized I should've asked you first, so I'm glad you're not mad." He sounded so relived and grateful that I wasn't mad, I didn't have the heart to point out to him that had he asked, maybe he'd still have his insides.
