eggs and a long weekend

Blown, dyed (er, red cabbage makes a yukky grey colour if you ever want a grey egg for anything!), painted, displayed, rolled, eaten, hidden, hunted.... and all from our lovely chooks!





A lazy-ish (well you can't really ever be lazy with three children) long weekend. I love most (and so do the boys) that it meant dh was home with us. The rest was all secondary. But it was good, second or not. My dh kicked off the day by sneaking outside to hide the paper baskets (now with a chocolate rabbit in each) before everyone awoke. The boys and I ran outside in our pj's and while they were hunting I sprinkled some glitter quickly outside the fairy door and placed two gem stones there. So they were also found and exclaimed over and we ran back indoors (it was chilly!). Even though I had said not to bother my dh had bought me a little G&B's chocolate egg, that was good as it meant I didn't steal too many bites from the boys :) So, we all munched in the big bed.

Later we did proper treasure hunts with picture clues that led all over the house and garden and of course our egg rolling down the slope outside.





There is this family joke regarding egg rolling that makes me snort and retell the story to my boys every year (and of course call up the butt of the joke - my brother- to get him to laugh about it all over again).

I was at uni and home for Easter (and a few months away from being pregnant with Isaac). Even though I was 20 I still liked doing the whole crafts at Easter thing (I always have - lets not pretend!) and so my brothers, sister and I set about decorating eggs ready to roll on our Sunday walk. Sunday came and we walked to a nearby hill (Roseberry Topping I think). In excitement we began rolling, and in my haste I grabbed and rolled the egg made not by me but by my brother who was then only seven years old. It rampaged down the hillside over cliff-like edges, with no hope of fetching it back. He started moaning and crying and everyone else carried on rolling and to his horror he realised there were no eggs left for him to roll. In desperation my mother stuck her hand in her pocket and said, 'Here, never mind! You can roll this!' It was an orange. This sent the rest of us into hysterics. We rolled around and laughed and I think even he stopped crying to smile a bit. Although he declined distainfully at rolling the orange I am sure one of us lobbed it instead (the dog by the way loves egg rolling and makes a sick pig of it's self chasing and trying to eat as many sticky glue/paint smeared hard boiled eggs as it can). Every year since someone has asked my brother if he plans to roll his orange this Easter. I of course had to ring him up to ask and then have hysterics on the phone. As usual. Now he is a grand 18 year old and can be cool and smile and laugh a bit and indulge me. He doesn't cry about it still in any case. And the boys ask me to tell this silly story over and over each year and I laugh about it all over again. I can't say what exactly was quite so funny. Just the absurdness of someone actually rolling an orange in place of an egg and finding it perfectly acceptable, even fun, seemed ridiculous.



We didn't roll any oranges, but we ate some. In honour. Well, having a cold was reason enough.

In the garden I find moments of calm and stillness and beauty enough to stop my silliness for just a moment.








When a tractor and car collide (harmlessly) at the end of our driveway, it is excitement.



And even The Beauty gabbles and laughs at the sight and noise.



Excitement can come in smaller tractor size packages too.



As can paddling in the stream. This has begun again, every day. It's a thing boys never tire of.