I am a bad mom who hasn’t dyed Easter eggs with her kids in…..oh……10 years. Maybe 9.

Yes, years, don’t judge. πŸ˜‰

So this year, I decided since all of my kids LIKE hard-boiled eggs now, it wouldn’t be such a waste to do it.

(And Brooklyn has NO idea what dying eggs even is….heh. I already said I’m a bad Mom, don’t throw things!)

So we boiled the eggs and laid out all the colors in coffee cups and explained to my poor, deprived children how it works and where NOT to get the dye: on the table/clothes/floor and please, please…..do NOT drink the dye.

Again, for my poor deprived children who haven’t dyed eggs in years (if at all), I explained what the wax crayon was for. Label your eggs with your name, make cool designs…..etc etc (this is important for LATER in the story….).

And off we go dying our eggs like a good family should at Easter:



Austin stayed the night with a friend and went paintballing at an ungodly hour of the morning, so he is EXHAUSTED

Loving children….loving family….dying eggs like we’re supposed to….picture perfect.

And then they start showing me the eggs, proudly:

Beautiful, beautiful creativity….
“Chandler was here” ahahahaha that’s funny, Chandler!

They’ve even written MOM on one:

Oh my loving children…..tried to tell me it said “WOW” but I know when I’m loved. πŸ˜‰

And then…my loving, creative children decide to show me the rest of the eggs:

Look Mom! Look at this egg!

Wait…….WHAT??? What did you write on that EGG??? Does that say…..

…..IT DOES! IT SAYS “P O O P”!!

Now, at this point, my boys are laughing hysterically. HYST-ERICALLY. Like, one is seriously on the floor rolling around.

Like…..WHAT? Why would you write that on an EASTER EGG??

To which, my handsome, intelligent teenage boy replied:

“Well, it does come out of a chicken’s bu tt. Wait….I made another one too…..”

(I’m waiting on bated breath to see this one……Lord help me.)

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA???? Does that say P E E???? WHY would you write P E E on an Easter egg????

“To match the P O O P one!”

My husband is terribly proud of his boys. Like….rubs the top of their heads with his knuckles and declares proudly: That’s my BOYS!!

My loving, perfect family moment is over.

Well, until Brooklyn decides she wants to eat an egg.

….wait…..surely she knows NOT to bite into the shell…..she’s had a hard-boiled egg before right?

….oh no….no, no…..no, she’s not…

Oh crap.

Apparently my bad parenting goes beyond the deprivation of dying Easter eggs, apparently it goes to the realm of not teaching my daughter to take the shell off BEFORE you bite into the egg.

To which, everyone again laughed hysterically.

(Please ignore my dude-voice, I have bronchitis. Again. But she’s SO proud at eating the egg and all the attention she’s getting, then Dad spoils it. HAHAHAHA)

Yes, it would appear, whatever semblance of a perfect family I dreamed of having….exists no more. Not even in my wildest imagination.

And that my friends….is a True Story Tuesday!

and yes, he was seriously sacked out in the chair! LOL

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