I learned something in parenting tonight.  Ya’ll know there’s always a struggle of what to call things so as to keep it appropriate and repeatable as it creeps back past the lips of babes.   Tonight, I told Olivia we were going to dye some eggs.  The moment it crossed my lips, I wanted to back up 12.2 seconds and rephrase it.  Four year olds have the knack of a million questions.  She wanted to know why eggs died.  Did their mommies and daddies leave them?  Were they sad? And it went on and on and on.  The only way I knew to remedy it was to throw in some spelling.  D.I.E. means something stops living.  D.Y.E. means we’re going to change the color.  We’re going to D.Y.E. the eggs.  Lather, rinse, repeat…x 4. 

Uh-uh.  Wasn’t happening.  At the risk of bruising the dead horse I had been beating, I gleefully, and loudly, exclaimed we were coloring the eggs.  Coloring. Coloring. Coloring.  

To end it all, Fabul-O chimed in with, “Why dem eggs died?”  Oy vey.

We just finished COLORING eggs and have grassed the basket for the bunny.  

Here’s to hoping all the good stuff is still in there come sun-up.

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