God bless my brother-in-law. He has a very cool job and got us into a very cool egg hunt this weekend. Think “Event of the Century” and boatloads of candy that will NOT win me any Mom of the Year awards with all the anti-sugar purists out there. The thing is, it’s just fun. The kids go, run around, snatch up candy and laugh a whole lot. So I’m a fan. In truth, this year, I’m more than a fan. I’m a psycho mom pushing my kids to heights of overachieving paralleled only in the elitist suburbia of America.
My sister (still blissfully child-free, though somehow being drug into attendance of this event), called me and said, “This is your year.”
I know. I know.
The goal? Not to heartlessly edge out all of the other children in the mad dash to greedily snatch up more Easter eggs. No, we are in this for the pure glory of being able to successfully snatch up even just ONE egg without getting bowled over by the other kiddos or being reduced to hopeless defeated tears. Last year was a freakin’ disaster. It was our first egg hunt ever, and the combo of rain, a sick-ish son, and no idea what to do made for a bad scene. I would give this egg hunt a solid F.
This year, step aside. We are on this one. Both my kids are kickin’ it at the top of their age brackets and we’ve been in training.
Oh yes, I’ve been planting those cheapo plastic eggs around the house for weeks and demanding the kids fetch them in the guise of “cleaning up”. Hey, I’ve got nothing better to do, right?
I’ve even enlisted our overweight hysterical chocolate lab to run herd on our balance training. Basically, he repeatedly runs full-force into the kids and they try their darnedest not to fall over. It’s effective. Not to be overly braggy, but I think my kids have the best balance on the block (yes, there are no other children under 16 on our block, but who’s keeping track?).
So this is serious. We are all in this. We are acing out this egg hunt, no compromises. No tears, no tripping, no “I don’t understand what an Easter egg hunt is” allowed. This is our year.
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