"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to let you in."

-- Robert Frost

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

chicks and bunnies

We still love the fluff stuff.  Even if we packed it in early.

Thursday, I lamented to my bestie on the phone over how much I dislike Easter baskets.  I didn't grow up with them.  I come from practicality and would fill them with shampoo, toothpaste and toilet paper ... all short shelf life things around here ... if I could.  Besides, on the heels of Christmas and a spring clean de-junk, I can live without one more thing to kick into a pile for kids to retrieve.

But marriage blends traditions.  And so I indulge.  Cuz he loves the basket.

How 'bout I just gather up the crud off the floor of their bedrooms and dump it in a dolled up laundry basket?  I asked. I'll even hide it and they can hunt for it for a few days. We'll just say it needed to be resurrected.

No one laughed at my sacrilege. 

So, I caved to flip flops (which will be useful soon), bubbles to keep the kids outside, gum that gets quickly reclaimed if anyone leaves it down even for a second.  And, of course, Peeps which some of us carried around all day like new "pets in a box" 'til they were so icky I slipped them in the garbage.

After the basket finding, Newel took us all for breakfast to our favorite little restaurant at the four-way stop in town. I never think of us as a crowd until I see us like this.

Having a breakfast-mess-free kitchen to return to, we dove right into egg dying.  Growing up we had a mass hunt with a dozen eggs colored by each child.  Yeah, multiply that: 9 x 12. That's a lot of hard boileds and his turn to eye roll at my traditions.   But six just leaves folk's creativity wanting and so, like it or not, we carry the torch .... and make it 6 dozen artistically dyed hard boiled eggs and a bunch of plastics with a couple of M&M's in each.  After all, I'm the party planning committee (insert knowing smile).

All fun and games 'til someone's rolled off the table and got hurt.

It's the hunt that matters most, after all.  They could've cared less what they were hunting for.  The smell of competition was enough to turn this thing all Hunger Games.

Then Newel reminded them there might still be eggs hidden in the coop.  Some weren't thrilled to be tricked into doing another's chores to collect the real eggs.

And I put my feet up and lounged in the sunshine enjoying the last of Newel's company before leaving to the airport.  All while Grant sat beside me turning my growing stomach into a green hill for his "pet" chick.

I no longer have any personal boundaries.

And at least no one was asking for anything else.

What do you do with 6 dozen hard boiled eggs?  Well, here in the backwoods, we sit in our camping chairs on the driveway, eating them one after the other, huckin' the shells into the scrub oak.


But then we have deviled eggs, potato salad, grits with eggs, and egg salad sandwiches 'til we're sick.

I think we're almost there.

Another Easter done and we're callin' it good.

1 comment:

  1. your photos are just amazing! I love your family traditions :)
    Good thinking with the flip flops. I"m going to remember that for next year