I’d be remiss if I didn’t repost this Easter egg craft from a few years ago. Traditional egg dyeing is fun but always turns out a little meh, so these are the techniques I use when I want something a little more showy. Theyse are still plenty fun and plenty easy (if not moreso on both counts), and they’re a sweet addition to Easter brunch if you decide to wake up and have a proper meal at a table instead of hunched over a basket of candy.
(Bonus tip: Use a lint roller — the kind with the sticky paper you can peel off and throw away — to clean up glitter if you have a problem with everything in your house glittering from now until forever.) (Myself, I’ve grown to like it, but that may be because I’ve inhaled enough fine-grain sparkle that my brain isn’t working right.)
Last year I tried to get my three-year-old to painstakingly decoupage a dozen fragile blown-out Easter eggs. This worked about as well as you’d imagine, which was not at all. This year we’re going a little simpler with stamps, markers, sticky dots, and glitter. Join us!
Glitter Polka-Dot Easter Eggs
Here’s how we’re doing the bulk of our eggs, since this technique was such a hit with my glitter-loving, attention-span-deficient son:
All you need are sticky dots (also called “tacky dots” or “glue dots” — I found them on the all-things-adhesive aisle of the craft store) and glitter.
I covered our work surface with freezer paper and tried to contain the glitter in baking cups, but when all was said and done, it’s a good thing I love glitter because it is now absolutely everywhere.
A few tricks I’d like to pass on to you for this project:
1. It seems like it would be easier to stick all the dots on and then roll the egg in glitter. This didn’t work great for us because our dots were REALLY sticky, which means we spent a lot of time prying them off the table and our fingers (funny, but annoying after a while). We had an easier experience sticking on a few dots at a time and then sprinkling those with glitter (which takes the stickiness away) before moving on. This also allows you to do dots of different colors on the same egg.
2. To remove excess glitter from the egg, use a paint brush or foam craft brush instead of your fingers, CHILD.
I love how these turned out and can imagine them becoming a family tradition, glitter mess and all.
Name-Stamped Easter Egg Place Cards
When is a place card not a place card? When it’s a hard-boiled egg nested on a napkin, of course. (Of course.) I love the look of eggs stamped with guests’ names for seating at Easter brunch. (Just don’t leave them out for too long if you’re planning to eat them.)
I got a set of letter stamps for under $5. (Here’s a Melissa and Doug stamp set with uppers and lowers for $16, plus regular craft ink.) Instead of inking up on a stamp pad, I colored the stamps with food-safe markers (which are great for leaving notes on tortillas and drawing derpy faces on cheese sticks).
(I’m sad to say I don’t actually know anyone named Fern, just that we’d watched Charlotte’s Web that morning.)
Edible-Inked Easter Eggs
And speaking of food-safe markers…
This technique (and all of them, actually) works best on room-temperature eggs, since eggs that have been in the fridge tend to sweat when they warm up, and that moisture will make your ink smear and run.
(If you don’t have edible markers, Sharpies are exquisite for this too, although you won’t be able to eat the eggs after unless you like the taste of POISON and CERTAIN DEATH, which I’m guessing you don’t.)
I love dressing up my eggs every year and hope you guys are inspired to give one or more of these ideas a try. Anyone up for it? How are you decorating your eggs this year?
In an age when it seems like not just anything but everything is possible, I make a point to regularly rage, rage against the dying of wonder. The technology we have now is the stuff of dreams, and to keep myself from becoming immune to the marvels of everyday modern living, I frequently remind myself to step back from the screen(s) and acknowledge that we are living in an era of miracles.
I do this most often in moments of tech-induced stress: when I’m on a work deadline and the Internet is running like cold molasses, or when my phone won’t fully load a video of a cat playing the glockenspiel whilst wearing a tiny bowler hat. You know, important things. Necessary things. Things that weren’t even possible a generation ago: when the popular media’s vision of our future was a landscape of flying cars and robot maids instead of a panorama of invisible data signals shooting back and forth between space and our faces, all lit by tiny super-powered computers a person may carry in a fashionable tote or even her back pocket (and sometimes both).
It’s magic is what it is.
My kids are growing up surrounded by high-powered consumer technology, and they never think twice about it until I get all wide-eyed and hand-flappy and point out, “You guys! You’re using a video phone! A video phone! The future is now!” They look at me like I’m insane and then turn back to their conversation with Skype Gramma (this is what they actually call my mother-in-law), who sometimes rings us up in the evenings simply because she wants to read the kids a bedtime story or sing them a lullaby or twenty.
It took some time for me to stop thinking of Skype as the equivalent of the expensive, low-quality, special-occasion-only long-distance phone calls from my own childhood (“Everybody shhhhh! Jessie’s calling all the way from South Carolina!”), and to start applying it to everyday uses. My mother-in-law combines long-distance with the everyday beautifully (she uses Skype every Sunday to just “hang out” with her grandkids in England), and the way she’s embraced the technology has changed the way I use it too.
Think about it: You can use Skype from the dressing room to get a second opinion on clothes you’re trying on. You can use it to make sure your husband’s getting the exact right kind of deodorant for you at the grocery store. You can use it to say goodnight to your kids on days you’re stuck late at the office. Skype closes gaps both large and small.
Here’s my kid showing off his face paint at a birthday party I had to miss for work last month. Sure, I was going to see him in person an hour later, but the way he was working on that sucker told me his makeup wouldn’t survive intact, and Skype let me be there when I couldn’t be there there.
As parents we hear a lot about the dangers of too much technology, and it’s my hope that as my kids grow up in the digital age, and as I watch technology weave itself into the very fabric of their lives, I can teach them how to use it wisely. I want to be sure they know that its greatest use is not to disconnect us from the real world but to help us connect to each other, whether it’s across long distances or short, or for deeply meaningful reasons vs. simply ensuring my teenagers are at the library instead of the movies.
I picture my kids one day having kids of their own, and I wonder if they’ll call me Skype Gramma.
Yes, the future is now, but the future future will be here before you know it.
How do you use Skype to stay connected?
A few weeks ago we were hanging out with a group of newish friends, and I was reminded of the importance of having newish friends as I listened to Simon describe the general character of our relationship–a thing that doesn’t often happen with oldish friends, who have seen the relationship in action enough they’ve no need for the soundbite version, a sad thing indeed when your favorite thing to talk about is yourself (hello blog! I’ve missed you!)). “I think our relationship works,” he said, “because I’m completely predictable and she’s a total mystery. I seriously can’t figure her out, and I don’t think I ever will.”
Although Simon is an oldish part of my life, this was a newish thing for him to say, and that was kind of amazing considering how perfectly the thought encapsulated both (a) our personalities and (b) the mechanics of our connection. We are complementary in the most geometric sense of the word (together we make a right [angle]), but I’d never thought about that particular aspect of how our edges line up. I, a person who hates surprises and prefers everything to be “just so,” had found someone so steady and dependable that I never need worry what he’s going to think or say or do next because I know him, and he, a person who’s game for anything and rock-and-rolls with the punches and always lets the waiter pick his food for him (my god, you could not pay me enough to play that roulette), had found someone who, apparently, keeps him on his toes, always guessing, ever curious about what will happen next.
(As someone convinced she’s mostly boring and thoroughly WYSIWYG, I won’t pretend I’m not flattered that he thinks I’m mysterious! Picture me wearing a black hat with a large brim that comes down over one eye and contrasts perfectly with my platinum Hollywood waves.)
(Alas, I’m afraid that, knowing myself as I do, he doesn’t mean “mysterious” so much as “complicated, confounding, and often quite maddening in many ways.”)
Anyway, as I was thinking about what Simon had said, it reminded me of something our wedding officiant said that was equally on-the-nose. I was sure I’d blogged about it at some point between then and now, but it turns out I only mentioned it in a draft of a post that was never published. It was fun for me to go back and read those words–from September 14, 2012, when Fox was eight weeks old and Wombat was almost four and Simon and I were still newly marveling at what we had managed to forge in the fire of our mismatched togetherness–and I thought it might be fun for you to read that stuff too. Here it is: