Easter Sunday was for dressing up…when I was young: “fancy” pastel colored dress, white socks and black patent leather shoes.
And a hat. An Easter Bonnet type of hat. The kind your mother wrapped in tissue and stored carefully in a cardboard “hat box.” Whisked away from your sticky little hands and tucked on a shelf, safe until the next holiday. They were often made of straw… decorated with artificial flowers. Secured on your head with a ribbon or scratchy elastic band.
I was never a dress-up kind of girl. My hat was much simpler than my sister’s…and was usually perched askew on my head. I actually kind of liked it. Simple. Primary colors.
Along with the hat came a “Spring Coat.” Also only worn for Easter and going to church. Maybe Mother’s Day. Not real comfortable for playing outside; which was my preference. But easier to wear than the dreaded itchy wool “Winter Coat.”
One Easter – when I was 5 and my sister was 3 – we needed to pose for a photo on the new backyard swing. Complete with our traditional Easter outfits. I’m in the red coat. She’s in the yellow one.
Apparently it took a few minutes to get seated…
This Easter tradition continued for a few years with my daughter, who at 5, was also in the spirit…with a hat passed down from one of her aunts.
This morning at church, I noticed children in their Easter finery…including one white straw hat.
In our house, while raising our children, coloring hard boiled eggs was an Easter tradition.
As it was when I was growing up…
At the kitchen table.
The smell of vinegar in the air.
Easter as a child: the anticipation…first the eggs. Then the wait for Easter morning and the hunt for hidden baskets. Chocolate bunnies! Jelly beans! Marshmallow Peeps!
The same wire holders. Newspapers spread out to catch the inevitable drips.
Tiny color pellets – one for each custard cup (in my childhood) – teacup (for my kids). Dissolving into what seemed like magical colors. Dip the egg in quick or let it soak. Or maybe dip in halfway. Turn it over and try a different color for the other half. This took practice.
Mastering the balancing act…without dropping the egg on the floor…an Easter rite of passage…
My daughter and son…each at 3 years old…experts!
Last year around this time, I wrote a post about Easter.
I described my favorite book from childhood…featuring Easter eggs and the Easter bunny…who overslept.
The sweetest story…
And the illustrations…sigh.
Well worth mentioning again.
If you want to check it out…Almost Easter 2018
This post inspired by Cee’s B&W Photo Challenge. The topic: Cute Factor
Cute Factor! How could I resist this challenge? Absolutely impossible.
As soon as my daughter became mobile, she’d crawl…and eventually run…to the front door when she heard her daddy come home from work.
Carrying his guitar. After a long day teaching teenagers how to play notes and chords and…eventually…What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor.
She was ever curious about this guitar which was so often in her daddy’s lap. Capturing his attention. As he practiced and made music. While he sang. To himself. To her.
At times – apparently deciding that enough was enough – she’d toddle over to wherever he was strumming. Press her fingers on the strings…silence the music…and demand, as only a tiny child can…No tar daddy! Daddy would take a short break.
When he left the guitar case propped open next to the living room wall…
our little girl often made use of this just-the-right-size-for-a-toddler seat.