As a child, I always found Easter to be one of my favorite holidays. Dressing up in my Easter Dress, usually hand made by my mother who was a crafty old soul. I would wear it proudly as I’d walk into the church and then change into sneakers when I got home to run around looking for Easter Eggs that my parents had hidden around our yard. I remember a specific image, me in my blue frilly collared dress. I was holding my Easter basket high into the air with one hand and an easter egg in the other, and a grin to laugh about because my top two front teeth were missing. Pretty much the stage that my youngest son is currently in as I think about it.
We had our Easter traditions, but none were as important as dying the Easter Eggs. A Moment when my brothers & I along with my Mom and Dad would hover around the dining room table. Engaging in some form of conversation with the inevitable mild bickering and elbow jabbing between us kids as we would all want to dip our eggs in the same cup of blue dye. Regardless these are the memories that I hold sacred about my family. A tradition that I try to keep alive to make those similar memories with my children. Memories that I know they will hold so dear in their future as well.
The boys keeping the tradition alive with their cousin.