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The Hunt for the Golden Egg & A Mother’s Shame

My family has been attending our city’s Easter Egg Hunt since my children were toddlers. The Hunt has always been eventful. There was the year when Hadley and Bode thought the eggs were balls and launched them in the air.

Or the time they passed over the eggs and ran in circles.

Oh, and I can’t forget when the organizers setup the course around the playground and my kids preferred to play on the slide.

And then there was last year’s communist society Easter Egg Hunt where each child was only allowed to retrieve five eggs.

But this was our year. There were no quotas, the eggs were scattered on an open field and at ages 6 and 4 respectively, Hadley and Bode are in their prime. My competitive husband Jamie coached them to the point they were getting so riled up that I chastised him to chill out.

We ran into our friend Andrew from church whose toddler was in possession of the elusive Golden Egg that contains a special prize. Every year, there is just one of them placed in The Hunt for each age group and I was curious as to how they scored it.

“We were on the far side of the field when we saw the Golden Egg,” Andrew divulged, “It was sitting next to a 10-year-old boy who looked like he was going to swipe it but we snagged it first.”

Good thing, too. Andrew is an attorney and that kid