Easter Egg Hunt
Saturday is the annual Easter egg hunt at The Mama's house, and the world deserves to know how fun she is before I spend an entire afternoon aggressively competing with my siblings and accusing her of loving my brother more than me. You must understand that the Easter egg hunt at my mom and dad's house is a showdown. It can even get ugly. But it hasn't always been this way.
The sun shines, the baby chicks hatch, and tulips and daffodils burst open; it is spring! And with spring comes Easter, and with Easter comes Easter egg hunts. There's something special about watching your little ones toddle around and look for pastel-colored eggs hidden in plain sight all around the yard. Aside from the occasional tumble or scraped knee, these days are pasted in our memory with little lace socks, long floppy bunny ears, and dainty little Easter eggs dotting the yard.
But as their legs get longer and the hiding places get more difficult, keeping their interest becomes a challenge. As was the case with the Rosenbalm crew, Cadbury eggs and quarters just weren't cutting it anymore.
When mom noticed we weren't as motivated for candy, she changed it up one year by incorporating a special type of coupon eggs. In a home where no one left the house without making their bed or the table without taking their plate, "make your bed" and "clean up your plate" eggs added a lot of fun to the egg hunt. At the end of the hunt, after piling up candy, quarters, and coupon eggs, the five of us started assessing our bounty and taking advantage of the weaker siblings (sorry, Gabe, but you would cough up a lot of cold hard cash for those clean your plate up eggs). Mom then took a tally of how many of each egg we had and *allegedly* marked off an egg each time you "cashed" in, but frankly, it is widely accepted that she lost the pen for our youngest brother, who still has some "clean your plate up" eggs to cash in at age 19.
When mom noticed we weren't as motivated for candy, she changed it up one year by incorporating a special type of coupon eggs. In a home where no one left the house without making their bed or the table without taking their plate, "make your bed" and "clean up your plate" eggs added a lot of fun to the egg hunt. At the end of the hunt, after piling up candy, quarters, and coupon eggs, the five of us started assessing our bounty and taking advantage of the weaker siblings (sorry, Gabe, but you would cough up a lot of cold hard cash for those clean your plate up eggs). Mom then took a tally of how many of each egg we had and *allegedly* marked off an egg each time you "cashed" in, but frankly, it is widely accepted that she lost the pen for our youngest brother, who still has some "clean your plate up" eggs to cash in at age 19.
Time didn't stop, and high school rolled around. Paper plates became a staple at our house, and there was no need for special eggs to trash your dinner plate. Thus, the Easter Egg hunt threatened to become nothing more than a distant memory. That is until the first golden egg appeared. Hidden in a drain pipe and valued at $50, it was the first year someone took home a big haul.
Once most of us were old enough, significant others started coming to Easter, and we had no choice but to let them play along. The stakes were getting higher and the competition fiercer.
Mom had been planning ahead with a cash jar throughout the year. The highest bounty crept close to three digits. This was getting real. A few high school graduations later, we had no choice but to deem it the adult Easter egg hunt. One Easter, while hiding the eggs, Mom decided to "change it up" by adding different rules for different eggs.
Time didn't stop, and high school rolled around. Paper plates became a staple at our house, and there was no need for special eggs to trash your dinner plate. Thus, the Easter Egg hunt threatened to become nothing more than a distant memory. That is until the first golden egg appeared. Hidden in a drain pipe and valued at $50, it was the first year someone took home a big haul.
Once most of us were old enough, significant others started coming to Easter, and we had no choice but to let them play along. The stakes were getting higher and the competition fiercer.
Mom had been planning ahead with a cash jar throughout the year. The highest bounty crept close to three digits. This was getting real. A few high school graduations later, we had no choice but to deem it the adult Easter egg hunt. One Easter, while hiding the eggs, Mom decided to "change it up" by adding different rules for different eggs.
The golden egg no longer contained cash but instead had permission to trade money with any one of the other players. Another year, you had to pass your money to the right. You get the idea- and we all did, too. This is where the goodhearted hostility began. You start to get suspicious when the magic rules are neither consistent from year to year nor written down beforehand. You worked to find as many eggs as possible, only to find out the least eggs get a bonus. Suspicions rise when the oldest child walks away with the biggest haul three years in a row *cough* *cough* *favorites* (I am happy to report, with a little extra blood and sweat, Adam and I have claimed the most cash the last two years).
No matter who walks away the winner, we always have a great time running around the yard laughing, gathering eggs, and seeing what kind of crazy rules Mom comes up with that year. Even with our ages ranging from 19-27, we all line up at the door and run out (the running is short-lived for those above 25...) like a bundle of little kids all over again. Something tells me it is The Mama's joy to watch us push each other out the door, scramble around the yard, and hunt eggs, and she won't be stopping any time soon.
The golden egg no longer contained cash but instead had permission to trade money with any one of the other players. Another year, you had to pass your money to the right. You get the idea- and we all did, too. This is where the goodhearted hostility began. You start to get suspicious when the magic rules are neither consistent from year to year nor written down beforehand. You worked to find as many eggs as possible, only to find out the least eggs get a bonus. Suspicions rise when the oldest child walks away with the biggest haul three years in a row *cough* *cough* *favorites* (I am happy to report, with a little extra blood and sweat, Adam and I have claimed the most cash the last two years).
No matter who walks away the winner, we always have a great time running around the yard laughing, gathering eggs, and seeing what kind of crazy rules Mom comes up with that year. Even with our ages ranging from 19-27, we all line up at the door and run out (the running is shortlived for those above 25...) like a bundle of little kids all over again. Something tells me it is The Mama's joy to watch us push each other out the door, scramble around the yard, and hunt eggs, and she won't be stopping any time soon.