Dying Eggs = Express Train to Stressville

Just the thought of dying Easter eggs fills me with dread. The nasty smell of the eggs, the dye, the vinegar, the water, the practically overflowing cups. It's a huge mess waiting to happen, and I don't do messes well.

Today, I sucked it up and dyed eggs with Emma and Harper. Weeks ago, we bought the dye kit, and ever since, Harper has been begging to dye the eggs. I was able to put her off for weeks, saying that the eggs would spoil before Easter. But I promised that today would be the day, and sure enough, she held me to that promise.

From the moment I laid the first piece of newspaper until the moment I washed the last cup, I was a bundle of nerves. Surely, it's for times like these that Xanax was created. Too bad I didn't have any.

Before we started, I ran out to Starbucks to get a drink. I needed something to get me through this. Wine would have been my first choice, but it was 3:30 in the afternoon.

The anxiety-inducing eggs...

Why do they insist on playing with the eggs? Really? Why can't they just let them be?

That drink that was supposed to help calm my nerves? Yeah, I didn't get to drink much of it.

But then, I see the smiling face of a happy little girl, and all the anxieties melt away. And I know that it's worth all the stress.

So, tell me. Is egg dying stressful or a walk in the park for you?