Mar 30 2010
My three eldest children are now too old for egg hunts, so Zeke and I walked to yesterday’s neighborhood egg hunt by ourselves. We carried our umbrellas and trudged up the hill at a five-year-old’s “slow enough for conversation and observation” pace.
The water running through the ditch was observed and commented on repeatedly. “It looks like a creek. What’s its name?” Zeke asked. Lately, he has been concerned with the naming of all bodies of water. Whenever we drive to Fredericksburg, he waits in anticipation to shout “Rappahannock River!” when we start to cross the bridge.
“It is just water in a ditch. It doesn’t have a name,” I say. Knowing this answer will not suffice, I offer, “You can name it if you like.” Thus, Zeke names it “Columbus Creek.” As we are currently walking up Columbus Drive, this seems fitting.
Next, we ruminate on the many places the water in Columbus Creek will travel. “Columbus Creek will flow into Aquia Creek, then the Potomac River, then the Chesapeake Bay, than the Atlantic Ocean.” It is very important to Zeke that I think of Columbus Creek as more than “just water in a ditch.”
Following our geography lesson, we arrive at the egg hunt. Zeke stands next to the Easter Bunny for his picture, but is not willing to sit on the bunny’s lap. Next, we observe the fenced off area where Zeke is to find eggs. The eggs are not hidden very well.
I begin to discuss egg hunt tactics with Zeke. Over and over I tell him, “Don’t run around with the crowd. Run to an area with fewer kids and look there. You will find more eggs because there is less competition.”
My goal for my children at an egg hunt is not “find the golden egg,” but “find any egg so you are not holding an empty basket at the end and crying.” This “empty basket and tears” happens every year to some meek and polite child, and I try to make sure that meek and polite child is not mine.
Zeke, of course, did not listen. He started running around willy nilly with the crowd. I then found myself yelling “Zeke…run over here! Zeke…look in the holes! Zeke…not that way!”
I only stopped because I was getting drowned out by several fathers next to me yelling possible golden egg hiding places to their children. “What am I doing?’ finally broke through my thoughts.
Thankfully, there were enough eggs per child that Zeke found plenty and I was not the Mother comforting the crying child.
Zeke and I cooled off from all the excitement at the refreshment table where we discovered orange koolaid and delicious white cupcakes crowned with peeps.
On the way home, Zeke counted his candy and ruminated about Columbus Creek. I, however, was plotting out next years egg hunt tactics.