April is an unusually busy month around here.  We have no less than 4 important lovey’s birthdays right in the middle of the month.  Add the hanging cross holiday and a little waiting for Elijah or Miriam… then you can get my drift about how nutty I am usually feeling right about now.  So it is with mirth and giggles that we have officially declared the egg-hunting festivities ridiculous!  For the last several years I end up making cookies and dying the white orbs all by my lonesome.  The kids get bored, it’s not their thing anyway and run off to do something else.  And they don’t even like hard-boiled eggs anyway!  So we have these eggs, the day has been filled with birthday preparedness or some such silliness and we’ve forgotten all about actually engaging in a ‘traditional’ egg-hunt until we are all finally seated for dinner… and then oops!  the sun’s gone down.  After the first year, it was pretty ridiculolus.  The second year, it was what it was.  This year, we call it tradition.  And I think we are gonna keep it, cause it’s funny and it works for us.

Whilst I was running around party planning and game strategizing and menuing for the birthday festivities, my guys were off on a “short” afternoon hike.  This jaunt was to take a few hours’ time at the maximum, but having hiked with the BigShot before, I knew that Kin.aked would slow down the ePrince’s expedition and they would all be a lot longer than any of them had hoped.  By the time they returned, Kin.aked had suffered 2 bouts of car sickness and was passed out with his little legs hanging off is bed and his hiking boots slumped on the floor beneath him.  The e.Prince set about catching up with his new girlie friend (though we pretend we don’t know about her – cause I was a tad merciless on the teasing the last time around); it had been, like, 4 hours since the last text message was delivered between them!  The BigShot was quickly to be found soaking his aching and aging self in the tub, but was then soon afterward heard snoring under the late afternoon sun.   So dinner rolled around and I had decided to chuck the whole thing this year.  Even though we had recycled, from last year’s decorations, the plastic easter eggs and filled them with candy… And so went our easter sunday. 
But it seemed a shame to send the little guy off to kindergarten to report that he hadn’t hunted down a single solitary egg all day!  So with the last whisps of sunlight fading very fast over the houses, we called in the auntie Bee to join us for “midnight egg hunting!”  Flashlights and pajamas zipped across the yard trailing the gails of laughter that sprang from the boys’ running and pouncing shadows.    All treats found, boys were worn out and tired again, and another traditione du Maison has surfaced in the house of the Bitchin Mama.

a bitchin feminista mama at the intersection of political quagmire and real life.

%d bloggers like this: