In our family the most important part of dying Easter eggs was creating a "name egg." We were each allowed to dye lots of eggs, but my mom would give us one special egg that had our name written on it with a white crayon. Once we finished dying it our name would show through in clear, crisp white letters. My dad was always in charge of hiding the eggs, but once the hunt began we had a strict rule that you couldn't pick up someone else's "name egg." It was the one egg that was yours and yours alone. With so many kids in our family we were forced to share most things in life, and so having an egg of your own felt like a sacred charge.
Most of my holiday memories, from the earliest right up until I graduated from high school and moved out, are a patchwork of various traditions. Since my parents were divorced and I spent time in both of their homes during the holidays, it seems that every year brought something new. But the "name eggs" were one tradition that stuck. And so as we gear up to celebrate Easter with our girls, and I consider what is most meaningful about this time of year, along with the more earnest topics of faith and belief I plan to share with them the tradition of creating their very own "name egg."
An egg of one's own. I think Virginia Woolf might have laughed at this notion!