I love Easter for many reasons. I love the build up to Easter. As a child Easter meant Easter songs at church and getting ready for singing a special, which I did until I was 9 and realized I could barely carry a tune. Easter meant aisles of chocolate bunnies with pale blue eyes. Easter was a frilly white dress, anklet socks, and later pumps and empire waists. Easter meant baskets and plastic green grass that seemed to magnetize itself to every surface. Easter meant malted milk eggs, robins gum, and that one special Cadbury egg.
We stopped dying eggs when I was about 13. We decided to go all plastic. Before that time we dyed eggs on Saturday evening, hunted them all day Sunday and then ate them the following week as egg salad. The egg whites still stained purple and blue and a little mayonnaise and salt made a delightful sandwich. But one year changed all that.
It didn’t happen on Easter. It happened about a few weeks later. Long after the supply of colored eggs were consumed. My parent’s closet began to smell. At first it was just a slight smell. We blamed it on shoes and sprayed air freshener. The smell got worse as the days went by and my mother was certain that a mouse had met its maker amongst the dresses and slacks. Certain that we would find a furry carcass, we searched the closet floor to no avail. Another day or two went by and the smell started to drift its way down the house. Room to room was searched. That dead rat had to be found.
Every corner of the house was searched. If there was one dead mouse, we were certain there was a family of very alive mice awaiting their furry family member’s return. This mouse had to be found and given a proper burial toss or we would face a certain mousaccre of rioting rodents. Every corner was searched. Every hole sealed. But the smell persisted. After all hope was lost an idea struck. My father had a memory– a sudden realization of just what the smell could be. It was then that my father reached into the top of the closet and found our Easter baskets, still full of Easter grass and one very stinky egg.
Needless to say the Fairchild kids had plastic eggs from that Easter on. We even found a way to use plastic egg sleeves on the plastic eggs. We filled the eggs with candy, slipped a sleeve on the egg and boiled it for about a second. It worked, but all the jelly beans were soggy afterwards.
Being 7 years older than my brother and 12 years older than my sister, the hunting of eggs had already become a little old for me. I wanted my candy, I didn’t want to have to put on a show of hiding eggs, and finding eggs with the babies. And by the time my sister could enjoy Easter, my brother already found it old too. And the truth is you could easily hide eggs from someone who is as blind as my sister. So in an act of what can only be called animal cruelty, here are the step by step instructions on how my brother and I hid eggs from my sister
- Walk outside.
- Take bucket of eggs.
- Spin with bucket of eggs until all eggs have landed on grass.
- Go back inside
- Listen for Jodie to yell “Wow this is so easy you guys!”
I hope your family has a happy Easter. Hopefully after reading this story you will check your basket before you store it in your closet.
You can also check out my shop for my Easter cards, they would make great gifts for next year.