On Saturday, I loaded up the kids and their wagon and we headed to our area Mother’s Of Multiples Egg Hunt. We had planned to do our church’s Easter Egg Hunt come Easter Sunday, but the timing is such that it falls smack in the middle of their nap. And while we’ll be at the later service to celebrate the risen Lord, I can assure you we will not jack with the morning snooze, otherwise known as The Single Most Important Daily Event That Can Make Or Break The Rest Of The Day. So. Help. Me. God.


Jennifer was working all weekend (as opposed to just Saturday’s), and while I am accustomed to taking the kids out and about on my own, I had not previously done so with them not confined to a stroller, or at least not loose with other kids around. And a scary looking bunny.

This bunny had an interesting effect on the children. Some kids steered as far away as possible from him, despite their parents’ efforts to get said kids to take a picture with the slow-motion clapping, oddly waving thing. And I’ll just tell you right now, I could totally understand their horror. Other children would not let the bunny go. It was like watching Harlow’s cloth and wire monkey experiment. And for those of us with non-walkers, it made it a little challenging to get a bunny photo. But not impossible.

The Boy

So there I went, navigating my way around army ants of toddlers, trying to have a serious, but brief conversation with this bunny: “See those kids sitting over there? When you get a chance, please head over to them so I can get a picture.” Ok, maybe I forgot the please part. The bunny was in full-bunny mode meaning that s/he wouldn’t speak, so I couldn’t tell if bunny understood or heard my request. And I couldn’t look to the bunny for a visual acknowledgement because bunny had this weird grin and unblinking eyes frozen onto it’s face. In parting, I said “Bunny, when you go to them, do not try to get their attention. Do not look at them. Just hop on in behind them and bend down so I can snap a picture and then leave quickly because they’re afraid of strangers right now.” And as I walked back towards the kids, I can’t tell you how absurd I felt for having had that conversation. But whatever, I got the picture, and the kids were oblivious to the trauma in white behind them.

One-Eyed Bunny

The hunt was well organized, sections of the field marked for 0-18 month non-walkers, 12-24 months, 24-48 months, 48 months +, or something like that. Each family was asked to bring a dozen plastic eggs with age-appropriate goodies inside them. I really want to get to know the family who thought that Hershey’s foil-wrapped chocolates and choking-hazard egg shaped malt balls were appropriate for 0-18 month olds. Because when I do something horrible like accidentally make a finger bleed from trimming nails, I can think of them and know Well At Least I Didn’t Impede Their Airway.

At some point, I sat back and observed the greater controlled chaos. And I noticed that all the other families had a one-to-one adult-to-child ratio, with many having a grandma or aunt as reinforcements. THERE IS LOGIC TO THIS. Something the ever-present film of sweat I carry around has already told me.

BAMOM Egg Hunt 2009