"And, They're OFF!!" (Dateline April 2004)

The Easter Bunny is a big deal at my house (but so is the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus). So planning for the Easter Egg Hunt is a week long project for my kids. They tell me all their plans and it’s my weeklong project. We start our preparations early in the week by supporting our local retailer to buy some Easter Egg stuff. Who needs new spring dresses for Sunday services when there are more important things to spend money on (like jelly beans!)

So, being the multi-tasking person that I am, I picked up my two oldest kids from school and off we go to fight off the hoards at Wal-Mart.

Ever wonder why most Wal-Mart stores are so big? It’s because most of the space is used to store all those UFO’s that got moved from Roswell, New Mexico. What little space is left is used to cram seasonal stuff in an aisle barely big enough for a three year old to squeeze down. Question: How many shoppers can fit down one aisle at three in the afternoon a few days before Easter? Answer: 4,523,632.

So there I am, just me, two kids and an oversized shopping cart squeezing down a very small aisle crammed with Easter Candy, Easter Baskets, Easter Bunnies, and Metamucil (or else why would the over-90 crowd be there?) Grabbing way too much candy in an effort to get out with all my body parts intact we fight our way to the check out. Seems there’s a reason I leave my kids behind when I shop for stuff like this- the extra jelly bean bags (5), the extra chocolate bunnies (3), the extra Metamucil (?), and one screaming 90 year old nun(now who put her in there? Nicholas?!*($#@%$)

Fast forward to Saturday evening…the kids are in bed and I have unloaded the back of my car where I have kept the baskets, candy and the nun hidden until this evening. Then I quickly tell my husband that I bought extra plastic eggs to fill (I think we are up to about 5000 – we have 5 kids you know) and then run like mad up to bed. Three hours later I hear my husband stumble up to bed, hands wrapped in bandages, mumbling something about black jellybeans being pretty tasty.

Sunday morning arrives (finally). “Mommy, did the Easter Bunny get in the house OK?” “Were you joking about Daddy and the Easter Bunny drinking beer and telling war stories?” (Oh, I’m going to go to hell for that one!) “Can we do our Easter Egg hunt now?” “How about now?” “Now??”

Just an aside – we live in an old farmhouse surrounded by cornfields and an occasional cow. We have about three acres of yard, most of it not mowed (going au naturale, as my husband explains). However, in an effort to restore marital harmony we do have a “path” mowed around the outside perimeter (Marine Corps Boot Camp training starts at the age of 18 months at our house). Dave has thoughtfully placed groups of five eggs in various places around the path.

I guess he thought it would take the kids a good while to go collect one egg from each pile. I suppose he was thinking the kids would make a stately exit from the house, sedately stroll around the path and delicately place one egg inside their basket before going on to the next one. Yeah, right. Here’s the reality:

* Run out the door without coats…It’s raining (ok, snowing, but it passes for rain in N. Michigan in April)

* Come back into the house for coats, gloves, hats, snow shovels

* Run like mad back out of the house. Ensure door slams five times.

* Ensure glass door is still intact (me).

* Run after the kids with one left-over coat (me).

* Grab very small four-year-old daughter who is trailing everyone else by 1000 yards. Put her coat on. Pick her up and run like mad to catch up with other kids.

* Scream at kids “Nicholas – one egg from each pile!! One! I SAID ONE EGG!”

* Quick grab the remaining egg from the first pile and throw the plastic egg in the basket (and hope like mad it stays shut).

* Still carrying Alexandra and the basket with one lone egg banging back and forth, run down the hill and grab the 2nd egg. No sign of other four kids, just maniacal laughing somewhere up ahead in the snowstorm.

* Slide into pile #3 and grab another egg (for some reason all her eggs are yellow). By this time I see the bottoms of someone’s feet as they land face down in the wet grass, eggs spilling out of their basket.

* Quick put Alexandra down and push her in the right direction (hoping she doesn’t get lost in the snow), grab the downed egg racer and re-right him/her, grab spilled eggs, candy, basket, snow, grass, and dead bugs and run like mad to catch up with Alexandra.

* Repeat four more times.

* Coming down the last stretch all is quiet. Stumbling out of the snow storm I fall across four kids squatting down staring at the big gold egg in the pile and arguing “I don’t want it, you take it.”I don’t want it, you take it!” “Mommy!!” “It’s got chocolate in it” “Mine” "Mine!” "MINE!”

* Run to next pile, no kids, no eggs, only footprints in the snow…

* Stagger to the back door just in time to see five kids sitting in wet snow opening eggs.

Total time to back door 3 minutes, 15 seconds.

Ah, childhood. It's over so quickly.

Mary (still snickering over the Easter Bunny commercial where he comes down the chimney. I’ll worry about the consequences of lying about the Easter Bunny next year – right now I need to sit down.)