Eggs-treme Nostalgia

I wish I could hop into the wayback machine and travel to my childhood.

This would be the day when my siblings and I decorated Easter eggs.

My Mom would present us with pristine white hard boiled eggs, ready for the dunking. She'd divvy them up to provide eggs-actly the same number to each child. (That's how we rolled in the Schrimpf house.)

One of the elder sibs (most likely Diane) would pour the boiling water into bowls along with vinegar and the fizzy color tablet.

We'd each pick out a metal dipper, which we'd bend into shape.

If we were so inclined, we'd use the waxy crayon to write a clever or possibly profane message on the egg before dunking it into the colorful liquid. 

You could dip the egg halfway in for a dual-color presentation or go all-in for one overall solid color. The more patient you were, the darker the shade. 

Once the eggs were colored and dry, you could add stickers or rub-on transfers.

The best part was critiquing each other's eggs. Someone (Paul) invariable went for the ugliest egg, which was achieved by dunking the egg in multiple colors that didn't blend well. The result would be something resembling baby shitz. 

After the eggs dried and we'd all lost interest, Mom would put the eggs in the carton and store them in the refrigerator until the Easter Bunny hid them later that evening. In those days, there were no worries about eggs going bad. Unless one wasn't discovered and the EB forgot where it was hidden. Then we'd all chime in with, "Well, if we don't find it, the smell will give it away in a few days." 

But it never came to that. 

These days, Easter for the Ginleys is just a day when many of the stores are closed. No decorated eggs, no Easter bonnets, no big Easter dinner.

But now that I've taken that stroll down memory lane, I don't mind. A nice, quiet day at home and maybe a walk in the park actually sounds kind of nice.

As an added bonus, we won't be eating hard boiled eggs every day for the next week.

The tradition carried over to the next generation.
(My niece, Melissa, is sitting on her mom's lap.)