Easter was a quiet day this year. It wasn’t always liked that. Easters of the past were good family occasions. We decorated the Easter eggs, searched out candy-laden baskets and have memories of our treasure hunts on Easter morning.
Using about three-dozen plastic eggs a clue would be tucked inside each one leading each child down their personal path to their hidden treasure. The first clues were handed to them and each read differently. Words were geared for their age. They might have read something like this “It’s really not hard to find the number two clue; just go to a cold spot for an egg of blue” (which meant the freezer), or “A hidden pink egg holds clue number three, near an exit it’ll be, yet difficult to see,” A poet I am not.
By the afternoon we had invaded Grandma’s house. Every grandchild would be transformed as the boys had their hair combed and wore neat outfits; the girls in their frilly dresses, matching bonnets and lacy white socks inside a pair of patent leather shoes. They were picture perfect children! My sisters and I would quickly group the kids together to snap pictures as they anxiously waited to run outside to find the Easter eggs that our mom had hidden.
If we were lucky enough to grab the kids before they had a chance to run out of the house in search of those eggs, off came those adorable little outfits, replaced with old play clothes; and if the ground was still soaked from the melting snow, the shiny patent leather shoes were discarded for more practical wear like mud boots.
They went from looking like a prince and princess, to country bumpkin with mud on their knees within a matter of minutes. But, their sweet little faces glowed with excitement as they turned to show us the colored egg they found nestled at the base of the tree. Our precious angel coated in mud went to hunt down another egg for the basket.
I relished those were crazy days. Knowing full well that change would set in. Because as much as a parent enjoys the stage their child is in, we are always looking forward to the next step.
I cannot tell you what day it happened. It isn’t clear to any of us. Yet at some point I had passed on the responsibility of their life to them, ending their childhood, the final stage.
It is funny because this is what I had worked so hard to achieve, to have my kids independent and happy. I accomplished what I set out to do. I always thought I would be celebrating and danced up a storm.
It makes me laugh, because it makes me cry. Now I wonder if I did such a wonderful thing after all. As they formed their lives, I became an outsider looking in. I am a part of it, yet I am not.
Who would ever guessed that in sweet success there is a spot of sadness.
Although I have no regrets, the reality is; the happiest moments of my life are remembered with a tear-streaked face.
Using about three-dozen plastic eggs a clue would be tucked inside each one leading each child down their personal path to their hidden treasure. The first clues were handed to them and each read differently. Words were geared for their age. They might have read something like this “It’s really not hard to find the number two clue; just go to a cold spot for an egg of blue” (which meant the freezer), or “A hidden pink egg holds clue number three, near an exit it’ll be, yet difficult to see,” A poet I am not.
By the afternoon we had invaded Grandma’s house. Every grandchild would be transformed as the boys had their hair combed and wore neat outfits; the girls in their frilly dresses, matching bonnets and lacy white socks inside a pair of patent leather shoes. They were picture perfect children! My sisters and I would quickly group the kids together to snap pictures as they anxiously waited to run outside to find the Easter eggs that our mom had hidden.
If we were lucky enough to grab the kids before they had a chance to run out of the house in search of those eggs, off came those adorable little outfits, replaced with old play clothes; and if the ground was still soaked from the melting snow, the shiny patent leather shoes were discarded for more practical wear like mud boots.
They went from looking like a prince and princess, to country bumpkin with mud on their knees within a matter of minutes. But, their sweet little faces glowed with excitement as they turned to show us the colored egg they found nestled at the base of the tree. Our precious angel coated in mud went to hunt down another egg for the basket.
I relished those were crazy days. Knowing full well that change would set in. Because as much as a parent enjoys the stage their child is in, we are always looking forward to the next step.
I cannot tell you what day it happened. It isn’t clear to any of us. Yet at some point I had passed on the responsibility of their life to them, ending their childhood, the final stage.
It is funny because this is what I had worked so hard to achieve, to have my kids independent and happy. I accomplished what I set out to do. I always thought I would be celebrating and danced up a storm.
It makes me laugh, because it makes me cry. Now I wonder if I did such a wonderful thing after all. As they formed their lives, I became an outsider looking in. I am a part of it, yet I am not.
Who would ever guessed that in sweet success there is a spot of sadness.
Although I have no regrets, the reality is; the happiest moments of my life are remembered with a tear-streaked face.
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