We dyed eggs on Sunday and let the kids hunt them in the backyard. Officially, this made "Easter Egg Hunt" number 3, but since the first two were really just "Easter Egg Scoops" I don't count them. Sure, they bagged a ton of plastic eggs with little toys in them, but there was no hunting involved. It's really just a gigantic race to see which hyped up kids can cram the most eggs into their baskets. (The real pros all had Wal-mart sacks tied to their belt loops.)
Anyway, we decided that our children should experience the joy and frustration of racing against the clock to find actual hard-boiled eggs before the sun makes them inedible.
We discovered that they get their detective skills from their mother. Which is to say, all clues would have to be accompanied by big arrows and flashing lights.
Here we are, full of hope, heading out to conquer the world- or find fourteen eggs- whichever comes first.
Well, no Zaya. That's not an egg. Let's keep trying, Sweetie.
Mim needs a lollipop break. It's exhausting looking for eggs. It's been about three minutes at this point.
Hmmm. What could that be in the pot? A large ovoid flower?
Whoo. Still tired. Maybe if she sits on the basket, eggs will magically appear.
"Look Mom! The seeds are sprouting. What? Eggs? Oh, yeah. Still looking."
"Plants here too, Mom!"
"Right where? I can't see it. Are you sure, Mom?"
"Oh, right! Now we see it!"
Now they're finally picking up speed. It helped that Daddy showed them picture clues that he'd taken for the last six of them.
You might think I'm mocking my children. And let's be honest. I am. But I will also point out, in the interest of Egg Hunt Justice, that when the kids hid them for us, Art found eleven, and I found three. See? I told you they were my genes.