Mamas, it's all about the children. I sacrifice and I sacrifice and I sacrifice for the children. Those precious, precious children.
As proof-positive of said sacrifice and of my worth as a mother (do they not go hand-in-hand?), I give you this, my latest ridonkulous creation my masterpiece:
I've titled it: "Smug Mummy's Easter Basket."
Do you not see the calligraphied "R"? The "R" for Raines? Such that on our Easter morn I can don a pastel hairbow and inquire of my precious boy, "Raines? Can you find the R? Can you find the R, Raines?" And lots of rejoicing will follow all of this natural learning – even on Easter morning, Mamas. We learn.
Do you not see the glass? It's non-toxic, even when heated. And the organic soil? And the real, growing grass? Plastic? Pshaw!! Never would I let those tiny, gentle hands touch something so base as plastic. And on Easter? Horror.
Go ahead. You can Pin it. I know you want to.
But in all seriousness Mamas, I SO wanted to have real Easter grass for Easter this year. But when I concocted this idea in my "big stwrong brain" (as R would say) it looked more like this:
Ahhhh….now I see! I'm just missing a bow.
Happily, it's not too late – this stuff grows in about a week. And it's not actual grass seed, or even cat grass (which is what I tried)…it's just soaked wheat-berries (which you can buy at the grocery store). The best tutorial I've read on the topic (where best = easy and normal) is Daring Young Mom's.
But my very fav? Jack's Magic Beans, $12.
Yes, you are basically paying $12 for $2 pole bean seeds. But sometimes the presentation is everything. Raines has been obsessed with Jack and his magic beanstalk for almost a year (our favorite version was previously featured here)…and I can just see him getting excited to watch the beans grow, trying to see how high they'll reach up.
Four really is a wonderful age. Even if when the beanstalk doesn't go all the way up to outer space, his imagination will fill in the details.
ps. If you happen to be one of those amazing Mamas would can easily crank out gorgeous real-grass Easter baskets, please see any snark above for what it is: Thinly disguised envy. You go, Mama.
pps. Mike came home from work, saw my table full of lush (snort) Easter grass and cracked up. Then humoured me with an "artistic" shot, so I could continue on as a smug mummy for at least a few more hours.
If only it looked half this good in real life…..