Easter is one of those holidays in which we have a family tradition we follow religiously. We don’t have yearly traditions for all holidays but for many we do, and Easter is one of them. We don’t partake in the Elf on the Shelf thing for Christmas (thank goodness–it’s bad enough seeing the mischief the elf has gotten into on my Facebook feed) and we don’t do any tricky Leprechaun thing either. I recall doing the Leprechaun thing precisely once and when I realized I had to clean up the mess “he” did, that very short-lived tradition got put back on the shelf with the pesky elf.
Every year I fill about 120 eggs with candy. You read that right. 120. With three kids, that’s 40 per. I am the first to admit that’s ridiculous. I don’t what’s wrong with me that I feel the need to overdo it but I do the same thing every single year. I’m sure it’s poor planning on my part. I’m the mom standing in the aisle on Easter Eve at Target first, Safeway Vons second looking for things that Target didn’t have in stock, and then CVS third for the stuff that Target and Vons didn’t have.
Every year, my husband and I hide the eggs in our house. After all these years and with so few spots to hide the eggs, the Easter egg hunt is usually a short lived activity. As many as 138 eggs are found within 10 minutes (40 of them lead from the girls’ doors and down the stairs to their baskets) and the remaining 2 stay lost until October. I usually find them while cleaning and sit down to enjoy (inhale) my surprise snack. It’s always a welcome diversion because the candy-filled egg is usually found at the start of a new diet. Old found Easter eggs’ calories don’t count, after all.
This year is my last year having an Easter egg hunt until the girls start producing grandchildren–something I can’t even think about yet. I can’t believe it’s time to stop doing this fun (for me, anyway) activity. My girls have gotten so old that they no longer want to bother making the effort to find the candy filled eggs. They’d rather sleep in and make scary bunny faces on SnapChat to send to their friends.
The saddest part is that I’ve gotten to the age where I need to watch my sugar intake which means that I can no longer sit in front of the TV on Easter Sunday watching The Good Wife, mindlessly pairing Hershey’s dark chocolate eggs stolen from the girls’ baskets with a lovely red wine. I will have to be satisfied with watching The Good Wife with my arms crossed, sipping water, and listening to the contents of the girls’ Easter baskets screaming my name from the pantry at which point, I’ll do what any decent parent does and just go to bed. Sounds like Hell on Earth, doesn’t it?
Until Monday, have a wonderful Easter celebration with your friends, family, neighbors, and pets. Hug your children and enjoy every last squeal of joy as each new egg is found. And for goodness sake, eat a Peep for me!