Cracked

“I see one!” he wriggled the brightly colored egg out from between the branches of a bush with his tiny two year old hands *CRACK* As he placed the egg in his basket on top of the shredded paper his head was down and he side-longed me to see what my attitude was regarding the broken egg. “It’s fine.” he said patting it tenderly and tucking some of the yellow paper shreds around it and I nodded.

The rain kept dripping insistent that April Showers go on, Easter or not, making my hair stick to my face and keeping the camera jammed in my coat. I found a somewhat dry spot under some trees and crouched to wait the hunt out. Thirty six goddamn eggs tucked all over the yard. The Man laughed when he came around the corner and spotted me. “You okay?” his question is a dyed egg and I let the pastel vinegar of it soak my response.

“Fine.”

“There’s one!” Daughter had spotted an egg in a tree stump and began running toward it. Little Man immediately claimed it by sound.

“It’s MINE! It’s MY eaasssser egg!”  This is what comes of spacing your kids out by six years. There’s just no good way to have a group anything.  She tip-toed up to retrieve the “treasure” and placed it in her basket. Little Man was on her like the neighbors smallest dog. “It’s mine! Give me it!”

“Little Man, stop harassing your sister. Did you see any eggs in the flower bed over here?” I pointed at a purple egg sitting on top of a clump of soon to be flowers.  They ignored me completely, already locked in mortal combat for a hard boiled egg. Daughter lifted her basket as high as she could weaving and dodging with her red cape flapping in front of Little Man’s snuffing foot stomping self.

He doesn’t tolerate that very long these days. He lifted his basket higher than hers was and began swinging it at her while she yelped and whined.  Twelve or twenty eggs hit the ground amongst a wet gob of that damn manufactured paper grass.

“Should we do something?” The Man asked, stunned I was just standing there when I’m sure his own blood pressure was sky rocketing and he was dreaming of belts and a time when children were seen and not heard.  I was thinking this is easter.

The things is… there’s only so much you can throw at a person without a mental break down. Imaginary bunnies sneaking into the house, more candy than you’ve ever consumed in your life all snarfed down before breakfast, being invited to go outside in the rain with a basket and collect hard boiled eggs all over the yard… it’s a bit fucking much. He’s just two. And I won’t pretend I’m not irritated about having to worry about his taller version cracking under the pressure on top of it.

With the Easter basket empty and now a relatively useless weapon formerly almost dying Daughter managed to skip off smiling to look for more eggs. Little Man stood staring at his mess for a minute before pulling his shoulders back and announcing, “I pick ‘em up.”

“That’s a good idea.” I told him and watched while he scooped it all up and shoved it in the basket throwing some eggs in on top. *crack CRACK crack*  With all the eggs and most of the grass back in his basket Little Man struggled to get the handle over his shoulder and wobbled after his sister.

“It’s heavy!”  and it is. Heavy.  Finally I gave The Man a glance, the one he wanted to be sure I knew how upset and angry and frustrated he is.

“This is Easter.” I gestured around at the wet and the green and the eggs and the kids. “It will pass.”  The kids paused to turn back waiting for us, needing the exclamation of approval upon every discovery and they grinned at us. “it will go fast.”

April 12, 2009