Friday night Family Night: We dyed our eggs. Complete with cool little “egg-tats” that, regardless of how much or how little pressure I used, cracked every single damn egg. I’ll be skipping those next year.
Saturday, all day: Nene skipped around the house shouting at random intervals, “Do you know why I like Easter so much? BECAUSE THE EASTER BUNNY IS COMING!!!!” I tried to keep them up late, with the objectives of a) trying to catch the Easter Bunny in the act, and when that inevitably yielded nothing, b) sleeping in, so the Easter Bunny could have more time, because obviously he or she was running behind.
Sunday – aka today: I woke up at 6:30, thinking I would have plenty of time, since the kids didn’t go to bed until 11. I tiptoed down the stairs, and managed to hide most of the plastic eggs, with a dozen hard-boiled ones still to go. I was in the laundry room – as far away from the children as possible, without leaving the warm, toasty indoors, when suddenly, my bleary-eyed son spotted me carrying the egg baskets around.
Quickly, I ducked around the corner, stuffed the remaining 8 eggs in my hoodie pocket, congratulated myself for thinking to put on a hoodie with pockets to stuff, and handed him his basket. “I have no idea what these were doing in the laundry room,” I blustered. “It’s so strange. Here you go!” I passed off the basket and veritably dashed off to hide the remaining eggs.
Here entered my savior, my own personal Easter Bunny: Amy. She’d already bailed me out once, buying and stuffing the plastic eggs after work at 4:30 am, after I had neglected to be so prepared myself. And now, she sauntered down the stairs, silently held out her hands and set to work hiding the eggs. One of us would distract Danny, while the other hid eggs. And then when both kids were up (because when one is up, it’s not long til the other follows), we redoubled our efforts.
And then, this heroic partner of mine went upstairs to go to bed, resurfacing one time, 20 minutes later, to sneak a peek at the fun and whisper anxiously to me, “Make sure they find all the hard-boiled eggs!”
Of course, dear. Though, if they don’t, the dog will….
They searched pretty hard, those kiddos. And in spite of the fact that Danny nearly caught me in the laundry room, it was the very last place the kids thought to look for eggs. Even though there was one “hidden” in plain sight – even magnified by that trippy kitchen window. It took them forever and a LOT of clues from Mama to see that one.
My daughter looks a little spooky here. What's she gonna do with that egg?
In all, it was a big success. Though they won’t touch the hard-boiled eggs. (YES! Egg salad for me!) And the dog looked like he was up to something. Indeed, as soon as I let him outside for his morning potty, he found a bunny rabbit to chase and bark at. Fitting.
I am curious, though. How do people do it? How do people successfully hide eggs without getting caught? I narrowly missed getting busted last year, too. I can’t hide them at night, as we do hard-boiled, and the animals will eat them. And it seems like no matter how early I get up, no matter how quiet I am, the kids have a sixth sense – a little silent alarm that goes off. “Alert, alert, your mother is awake. Alert, alert, it’s time to get up!”
I don’t think I’ll be able to pull this off so closely much longer!
Angry Owls 