Easter in my house is characterized by three household events: the Bunny Rabbit cake, the coloring of the Easter eggs, and the Easter egg hunt. Making the rabbit-shaped cake and dying the eggs are events filled with smiles, mess, and family togetherness, complete with all of those warm and gooey Kodak moments. The egg hunt, on the other hand, has made a complete evolution over the years. What once involved three giggling sisters frolicking through a sunshiny yard with wicker baskets collecting pastel eggs now has become an all-out, go-for-what-you-know, fight until the death, thug fest. This transgression is to be blamed entirely on my mother.
When my sisters Chanel and Dani were 13 and 9 respectively and I was 17, Mommy decided to throw a curve into the yearly egg hunt. No longer would she hide the eggs we colored, but she had the grandiose idea of hiding day-glow plastic eggs. The twist was that inside the eggs we would find anything from a few jellybeans to the more coveted Hershey’s Hugs, to certificates for "dinner and a movie" with Mommy. What brought out the belligerence was (cha-ching) MONEY. Most of the "money" eggs contained one-dollar bills, but there were some fives and tens, and a couple of twenties. What made us lose all traces of sanity was the "Big Money" egg. "Fifty-dollar bill! Fifty-dollar bill!" to reference one of my favorite ’80’s flicks.
The wicker baskets were traded for pillowcases and shopping bags, the better to swing and use them as weapons without losing our eggs. It didn’t matter who saw the eggs first, but who bagged them first. That, in turn, meant that if you saw someone running for an egg, you could bum-rush them to the ground NFL linebacker-style and grab the egg for yourself.
To up the stakes even more, the competition was intensified when Mommy decided to invite the kids on our street to join in. So there we were — ten kids ranging in age from seven to seventeen. We were armed with an assortment of bags, teeth bared, and eyes squinted with the gleam of competition and cash in our eyes. We foamed at the mouth and growled. We stretched like Olympic track stars and flexed our muscles like WWF wrestlers. We all waited tensed and ready for war while listening for Mommy to give the signal to go. While I waited in that calm before the storm, I thought to myself, "The Big Money egg is MINE. I’m the oldest one out here. I’ve got the strength, the endurance, and an age advantage over all of these little midgets. The money is mine!" Mom yelled, "GO!" and we were off.
We ran; we growled; we searched in obscure places. We tackled each other and became bloodthirsty, Silence of the Lambs-type maniacs. The only rule was that we couldn’t open any of the eggs until they were all found, and when it was that time, I just knew that I was going to rack up with finding a lot of money eggs. Can you imagine how appalled I was when I ended up with a plethora of jellybeans (which I don’t even like), a few Hershey’s, and just two dollar bills! As much as I had overestimated my prowess and age advantage, I also overestimated my skills at being observant. My sister Chanel, on the other hand, laughed deliriously as she totaled up $64, including the Big Money egg. Even Danielle, the little snot, found $23 and the "dinner and a movie" certificate. Did I feel like a chump. It was funny, though, and I immediately became the butt of a week’s worth of jokes. Each year after that was worse; Dani and Chanel continued to find the money eggs, and I repeatedly was left with a couple of bucks and a week of being cracked on.
The past few years have gotten increasingly worse. I walk away with candy and a couple of bucks and Chanel and Dani get the big loot. I did luck out last year and get the dinner and a movie coupon, which was a feat in itself because I was only 2 weeks post c-section of Baby M’s delivery. I did throw quite a temper tantrum, though, because Mom hid the Big Money egg in a bush that borders our property but isn’t actually on it. For that very reason I didn’t think to check it, so when Chanel found the egg there, I threw a histrionic fit and yelled about how unfair it was. Please know that this is all in good fun and it’s become tradition for me to whine and squeal about not finding anything big.
So this year, Mom was very clear and very specific about the egg hunt boundaries.That damned Chanel has found the Big Money egg for the past three years and Frank, Dani, and I were determined not to let her find it this year. My personal goal was just to find more than two bucks and some chocolate.
Sooo…just watch this to see what happened this year:
You might be wondering, "Aren’t they a little grown to be participating in such childish follies?" And if you are, my answer to you is, "Why yes, yes we are. Mae West said, ‘You’re never too old to become younger’ and Pablo Picasso said, ‘Youth has no age.’" I come from a loooong line of dumbasses. We got it honestly. My Mom is the reigning Queen Dumbass, adept at inventing oddball games like Plunger Limbo. You should come over and play with us sometime.
Sidenote – yeah so what? In case you noticed, I know I spelled friend wrong in boyfriendo. I’m just too lazy to go back and fix the slide, re-save the video, re-copy the link, come back here, re-paste the link, and repost the page. Let’s just not and say we did, okay?