‘I’m standing in the garden with cold feet to hide dry eggs’

Image: Nine IJff

Laura Hogendoorn is editor-in-chief of Mamaplaats and a columnist for Kek Mama. She lives in ‘t Gooi, together with her boyfriend Oscar and their children Roef (8), Sierd (6) and Maia (4).

It’s half past seven in the morning. I feel the wet grass between my bare toes. There I am, out in the garden. In pajamas, with a basket of freshly painted Easter eggs and a jolly bunny ear diadem (handy word for hangman) in my hair. I have to be quick before the kids wake up. Pats, already broke the first egg. Of course one that was painted by my daughter, so I already know: this will soon be widely reported. Drama, tears with tears. I decide: I’ll just put the blame in the hands of that nasty hare.

Dye eggs

In fact, it had already gone wrong the day before. I had bought five egg dye mills, one for each family member. Cozy, I thought, painting eggs together all afternoon. It’s a pity that four of the five family members have a tension arc of licking vest and called it a day within five minutes. There I was, alone at the kitchen table, with a full pan of eggs to go.

But the courage is back. And all the artworks painted with blood, sweat and tears are now hidden. The anticipation degenerates into a fight about who gets to find exactly how many eggs. I’m sure I’ve hidden fifteen of them. In the end we go in with fourteen. In about three weeks we will smell where that last copy was again.

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Easter

Peeling can begin. And believe me, the shrimp peelers from Urk are nothing. In no time everyone will have their egg shell removed. Here we are. With fourteen hard-boiled blue eggs. With some cheap paint on the protein here and there. The mouthfeel drier than dry. God only knows why we’re doing this.

“There we are. With fourteen hard-boiled blue eggs”

And yet I enjoy it immensely. I already know for sure that I will be standing in that soggy garden again this year with cold feet. To hide bone-dry eggs, our festive meal. Happy Easter everyone!

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