And the winner is…

I prepared my own Easter egg dye on Palm Sunday. Blueberries, paprika and turmeric made purple, rusty orange and yellow, nay, maize, respectively. Once I poured the dye into glass jars, I knew I the project either would inspire me to award myself the Excellence in Earth Mothering Award, or be totally lame.


It was lame. The yellow didn’t take. The orange barely did. The blueberries made a valiant effort from which emerged some speckled pale purple eggs, but it was not as I’d dreamed. You know, kids with turmeric-stained fingertips, nail beds the color of antioxidants and a higher vibration of bliss in our home following the dawn of a warm, family tradition:  a holiday art project using mixed media from the natural world.

“Hey, Mommy, it’s not working,” Charlie said.

“Uh, Babe. I’m not too sure this is… I think it’s really cool you made this. But do we have any other options?”  Brian echoed.

I was glad I’d picked up some Paas at Walgreen’s.


And I was even gladder I didn’t jump right onto my “I’m such a failure! Why do I even bother sometimes?” wagon. That beater always pulls up to my inner mansion expecting me to jump in and ride around the block as soon as I “mess up.” But this time, instead of going to a mental place of knowing there must be better moms than I out there who triumphed with their homemade Easter egg dying experience, and a million other things that day, I sent the comparison-inator-wagon-of-doom on its way, popping those color pellets joyfully into vinegar and watching ‘em fizz with delight.


Frankly, we had a pretty great time. And I gave myself another award: the coveted Good Job Being Gentle with Yourself and Going with the Flow, Excellence in Enjoying the Moment prize.


2 thoughts on “And the winner is…

  1. Glad you went easy on yourself! My hubby has to remind me all the time that it is never personal when something doesn’t work out the way I had it hyped up in my mind. 🙂
    Your eggs are great!

    • Thanks, Em! I’m trying to get to the point where no one else–not even my husband–ever has to remind me to be nice to myself, not to translate mishaps into a definition of who I am. It’s no easy road being a recovering achievement addict!

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