So the closest we came to an easter egg hunt was my youngest throwing up in the bushes at the trail head this morn. I lined her easter basket with a plastic bag on the drive home. Not exactly how I planned the morning, but such is life right?!
I dont subscribe to easter in a religious sense, but I love a good treasure hunt! I broke away from tradition a few years ago when we moved out of our house (with a big yard) and into the apartment. I decided to leave the kids sleeping (I let the oldest know what was up) and head down to a secret beach with eggs in hand. I hid the eggs amongst the kelp, drift wood and rocks along the shore. It was the crack of dawn and my only companions were the gulls and an immature bald eagle who watched me from a giant Douglas Fir. I figured I was going to lose a few eggs to these onlookers, but finished my task and headed back to get the kiddos. It was cold and damp that morning, so we had the entire span of beach to ourselves. All three of the kids were totally excited. I followed them around snapping photos and dropping clues when the trail grew cold. Once all of the eggs were discovered (minus the ones pecked and destroyed by the birds), we built a fire. The morning warmed and the tide receded. It’s one of my favorite memories of time shared with my brood.
Given that their dad and I take turns on holidays, I’ll not get another shot at our beach-hunt for another two years. By then my oldest will be on the verge of his 18th birthday and my youngest will be nearly a teenager. It’s enough to make me want to cry. They grow up so stinkin fast!