On the last day of term, the Lattes had the option of taking decorated eggs into school. (We made these, but I'll leave you to imagine what ours actually looked like.)
When we arrived at school we found a small posse of children gathered around another child's egg. The egg in question was barely visible, due to being surrounded by a custom-made pink stretch limo, made of card, and complete with tinted windows.
I slid our egg surreptitiously into the hand of Eldest's teacher. "Here is our pitiful egg," I said to her. "I'm going to go home now, and we can pretend you never saw it."
I have made a pretty good fist of craft so far - for someone so woefully without talent, patience or imagination. Little effort was required - throw some sparkly bits and some glue on the table, add a few empty boxes, some paint, and a cup of coffee, and sit back making helpful suggestions. It was perfect idle parenting - and the evidence could be quickly put into the recycling after sunset.
But the bar is raising, thanks to other children and their damnable talented parents. They are oustripping my abilities, and my store of craft blogs (most of which seem to be aimed towards the pre-school end of the market.) If stretch limos are needed, I am well and truly screwed.
I am consoling myself with a hysterical amount of Easter cheeriness, after a mammoth session with scraps of felt and ribbon from The Parcel, and the production of an enormous amount of highly unnecessary baked items.
here and here
Image and recipe here.
The buns looked nothing like the picture either. But somehow, I can't quite bring myself to care.
Have a happy Easter.