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Monday, March 24th, 2008
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1:58p - broken baskets and stolen eggs
The morning of Easter Sunday, a small child hovered at my elbow as I prepared by breakfast. How much longer would I be and could I please eat it in my bedroom with the door closed? He escorted me there, mildly agitated, carrying my Sunday morning staples – the morning paper and my fully laden Care Bears breakfast tray.
For the past month or so, the 11 year old has been planning an easter egg hunt for the whole family. Comparing prices of easter eggs, using his Chinese New Years money to buy them well in advance (I was not so lucky and participated in the Easter Saturday egg rampage at the local shopping center. There was nothing left!) There were rules. Between 8-9am no one was to leave their respective bedrooms. From 8.45-9am we were to dress ourselves, ready for the official start at 9am. At 8.56am there was a knock at the door – could I please choose a basket?
At 8.58am my phone rang. ‘I’m gonna kick your assssssss!!!!!!’ So much for a good morning from Derrick. Game on, I stopped decorating my basket and stood ready at my door- hand on the knob. I peeked outside and saw this.
‘UH UH! I CAN HEAR YOU!’ the small boy doesn’t miss a trick.
We were good to go on time – only a voice cried out from the far corner of the house. My father had lost his basket. Typical. Give the man a basket he only had to mind for two minutes and he loses it. Mum, Dad and Zac started searching frantically. I was already in stitches.
And then it started. The pushing, the shrieking, the falling over, the basket breaking, the grabbing. The falling over and basket breaking was all me and the mother, feigning assistance, made a quick grab for my easter eggs spinning on the ground. The boy was fantastically creative in his egg hiding.
Time out fifteen minutes in – could we count our eggs and see who was the winner? Derrick won by one egg, my mother and I tied for second, my Dady, predictably, came last. He won the losers prize – a very special Crunchie freddo. The boy pulled out the calculator – there were still 5 eggs M.I.A.
He's decided that whoever finds them has to donate them to Dad. Pity eggs.
Hope your weekend's going swell.
XX
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