by Mark Ball
I have a renewed interest in the Easter Egg Hunt.
Every year my family gathers at my parents’ home to share Easter joy, delight in some delicious food and engage in a never ending search for plastic eggs. For several years now, I’ve questioned the need for the great egg race. Quite honestly, haven’t we outgrown this tradition? Isn’t there a video game version of this experience? Wouldn’t it be better just to review last year’s tape?
On more than one occasion we have been out sifting through the snow in search of plastic gold as the kids sit inside with their little mitts wrapped around a steaming cup of hot chocolate. There was also the year that my mother (official egg hider from the beginning of time) totally forgot where she hid the eggs. We spent hours canvassing the neighborhood on an egg search and rescue mission. One year a band of ninja squirrels broke through the protective plastic coatings and robbed each egg of its chocolate fortunes.
And throughout the years there has been much, much crying. Shorted of their fair allotment of eggs, the slowest child each year dissolves into tears. Frustrated by a fruitless search, more than one child has succumbed to a tantrum. In true disclosure, I have shed my share of tears just waiting for the monotonous searching to end.
But this year will be different, because it has to be. I will live in the moment before the moment hops away.
Molly, our oldest, just turned 10. Nobody shared with me that this was the birthday in which your beautiful child is replaced by an identical alien.
I haven’t understood anything Molly has said following the clock striking on her first-ever double digit birthday. Instantly the world began staring at her. Picking the perfect outfit became a matter of international significance. She flips through five moods before breakfast. A pink streak has even appeared in her hair! And whatever I say to her is wrong – dead wrong.
To make matters worse, her mother totally understands her.
I found this out last week when Molly had me actually speaking in tongues over a fashion feud. Molly had made the decision to cancel school because her clothes didn’t match. I explained that this decision would likely need to be made in consultation with the principal. She pointed out the error of my thinking (meaning: stop thinking and get out of my way). I did my best to put this situation into perspective (meaning: get over the clothes crisis, nobody else cares).
It was clear to anyone around that I was losing ground quickly.
That’s when Super Mom stepped in. She validated Molly’s concerns. Leslie shared legends of her childhood that pitted her against mean, judgmental girls and clueless parents. They bonded over their individual war stories. Then they worked together to develop a reasonable plan.
I opened the door for them as Molly went off to school and Leslie went off to work. Opening the door was the only helpful thing I did that whole day, my only successful interaction since my baby girl has become a 10 year old.
As a result, this year’s Easter Egg Hunt is looking a whole lot better.
Go hide the plastic eggs and I will happily hop around. I don’t care if they are under snow. I don’t care how far I must go. I’m okay if you hide them here or hide them there. I’ll chase after them anywhere!
From here forward, I will just be thankful for these few moments in time in which everyone acts like a kid.
