Time seems to have flown.
Of course, it’s only been three months since we found the final egg from last year’s hunt.
I’d always wondered where that egg went.
Last year’s family egg hunt was particularly brutal.
We dyed two dozen hard-boiled eggs, which wound up hidden in the front yard in particularly diabolical fashion. I suspect the Easter Bunny was cranky because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
The first egg that my daughter found, she peeled and threw at her little brother.
It was a damp morning, and slugs had crawled onto some of the Easter eggs.
The second egg hunt of the day, the one at church after services, wasn’t always pretty, either.
The day turned warm, which chased off the slugs, but melted the chocolate candy in some of the plastic eggs.
Normally, I keep the plastic eggs to re-use next Easter. But these gooey, chocolate-smeared eggs were beyond saving.
One egg contained a packet of Halloween candy corn, which I suppose is the Easter equivalent of re-gifting.
At the end of the day, back at our house, there were still five eggs unaccounted for.
Which is why, on Monday morning after the kids had gone to school, my husband and I were out in the yard having our own private Easter egg hunt.
We found four.
We gave up on the fifth.
Darn sneaky Easter bunny.
And then, one day in January, I was standing on the front step, waving goodbye to the kids as they left for school, and I happened to glace down the side of the house.
There, nestled in a corner of a windowsill, was the last Easter egg.
It was unbroken. No cracks, no odor. It had been washed white by the rain and the sun, which was how it sat, unnoticed for months, on a white windowsill.
I threw it away before my daughter had a chance to peel it and lob it at her little brother.
When the kids were little, we would continue hunting eggs for weeks after Easter, taking turns hiding empty plastic eggs around the house for each other.
I have a motley collection of mismatched plastic eggs on a shelf in an upstairs closet, the spoils of many years of school egg hunts and church egg hunts.
A few of these eggs have been converted into musical instruments. Fill them with rice, seal them with duct tape (very important step) and, voila, egg shakers.
One year my daughter and I used some of the plastic eggs as molds to make our own chocolate eggs.
I worry that my kids might be getting too old for egg hunts. I mentioned it to a friend this week. She’s in her 20s, and she told me not to worry. Her parents still hide eggs for her and her older sister.
“And you still enjoy it?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “Now my parents put money in them.”