No Egg Hunters

I hope you had a pleasant Easter Sunday. I’m actually writing this on Good Friday, so I can’t tell you if I had a pleasant Easter Sunday just yet, but I imagine it went pretty well. The weather was scheduled to be nice and I know my church has some great music and a great message lined up. We’re planning to go out to Memaw and Pawpaw’s for an Easter get-together, so I’m sure that will be nice too.

Except for one thing…

We’re all out of Easter egg hunters. Yes, I know very little about Easter Sunday has to do with eggs (unless you want to count that sermon illustration where an egg is sort of like Holy Trinity — God is the shell, Jesus is the yolk and the Holy Spirit is the egg white) but hunting Easter eggs has been a tradition for generations… and this year is the first one in a generation that someone hasn’t been hunting eggs in my vicinity on Easter. We didn’t even dye any eggs this year, and that, to me, is more fun that hiding or hunting them.

I blame my children. They went and grew up on me. And for some reason, they’re doing this whole thing where they get married, finish college and find jobs before they have children. Even my unmarried still-at-home 14-yearold says she’s too old to hunt eggs (and even if she did, she’d be the only kid around).

I suppose in a few years, I’ll have grandkids to hunt eggs, but it’ll be a while. I guess until then, I’ll have to be satisfied with a big ol’ Easter dinner and maybe playing some Easter spades.

Ooh, and an Easter nap… maybe this isn’t so bad after all!