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hunt or be hunted

You guys know how much I love Jesus, so obviously when our neighborhood hosted an Easter egg hunt last weekend, I had a religious obligation to take Mills.

It's important to note that I have a great appreciation for healthy competition.  When I know a prize is at stake, I am OVERCOME by a primal urge to win.  I’ve triggered such chaos in a Dirty Santa party (or two) that friendships have ended. (all because I stole a stupid travel kit and licked the toothbrush inside to secure my win). Once, I made a girl cry during a game of Catch Phrase with our church group.  But, everyone knows you don’t mix religion and game night.  And also, she was the worst Catch Phraser in the history of ever.  She wasn’t even trying. So, that one wasn’t really my fault. 

Saturday morning my neighbor texted to ask if we were going to the Easter egg hunt at the park.  Immediately my heart rate elevated because I DIDN’T KNOW the hunt was that morning.  I hadn’t had a chance to mentally prepare or come up with a game plan. I’d yet to do the first practice run or egg finding drill with Mills. 

It was one of the first beautiful days of spring and Matt thought we would walk to the park and enjoy the sunshine.  I thought this was a terrible idea because Mills would clearly lag behind and slow us down.  (have you tried walking with a toddler lately?)  He did not appreciate that observation or my proposal to take the car (because SPEED! And PARKING!), so I shoved Mills in a stroller instructing him to keep his feet from dragging the ground.  I instructed Matt to refrain from commentary about Mills being a foot too tall for the stroller.

With T-minus 60 minutes to go, we rolled down the driveway.  Matt seemed to be struggling with math as he repeatedly reminded me that we were only a five minute walk away and advised me to calm down. Agitated, I explained the need to factor in time for inclement weather, foot traffic and other various possible delays.  I hadn’t even hit a brisk mall-walking pace before Matt suggested I was running.  I suggested that he keep up. 
 
We were almost to the park and hadn’t seen any of the competition.  Feeling nervous, I Googled the hunt to double-check the time.  Much to my horror, a flier appeared stating the hunt was taking place AT THE PARK ACROSS TOWN.

Bedlam.

It’s a little fuzzy at this point, but I remember running back towards the house in a panic, screaming at my family to hurry up so we could “GET THERE AND HAVE SOME FREAKING FUN!!!”

I’ll spare you the details of the car ride over except to mention Matt’s threats to take my phone away if I didn’t stop checking the time and yelling at traffic. And also setting a terrible example for our son.  Meanwhile, I was facing the back seat chanting, “Get those eggs! Get those eggs! Push! Shove! HIT! Just, GET THOSE EGGS!" in hopes of raising Mills’ adrenaline so he would be game-time ready. 

There is a chance I jumped out of the car before we had come to a complete stop.  “KEEP UP!” I howled over my shoulder and began jogging towards the field. 

The set-up was tricky.  The grass was sectioned off into four different squares surrounded by caution tape.  Each square was labeled with a different age group and had one million eggs smashed inside.

Although the competition wasn’t particularly impressive, the crowd was thick and the odds were stacked against us. I pushed my way to the front of the “zero to three” zone and anxiously looked for the guys.  Matt was just strolling along (SLOWER THAN A SLUG) and I screamed, “HURRY! THEY ARE STARTING IN LESS THAN SIXTY SECONDS.”  This didn’t go over well.  Also, my timing was a little off.

While Matt pretended not to know me and introduced Mills to kids all around (=the FRAY!) I came up with several strategies.  My cheeks were on fire and I could hear my heart beat throbbing in my ears as a teenager held up a megaphone to make some announcements.  He said, “The sparkly eggs have prizes, please make sure your child doesn’t get more than one.”  Frantically, I began to point Mills in the direction of the closest sparkly egg and explain the importance of getting that one first.  Allegedly I was “yelling” and “making other families uncomfortable” at this point. Mills began to whine and ask me to hold him.  I was not “scaring him” as SOMEONE implied. Clearly he, too, has the primal competitive drive but doesn’t quite know how to channel it. 

The next few minutes are a blur. I heard the whistle and flung myself towards the grass.  Out of my periphery I noticed I seemed to be the only person out of diapers heading towards the glittering prize.  I slowed to check again and, as it turns out, all of the other parents were still outside the perimeter! I swiveled back scanning the crowd for Matt and Mills. In that instant, all the other parents swarmed the field.  I (gently) shoved a few kids out of my path trying to get a visual on the prize.  A GRANDMA was scooping it up in her hot little hand.  I angled towards my back up option only to see a fat baby shoving it in her slobbery mouth.  A quick scan of the space confirmed that all the other eggs were long gone, prize or not.  Just like that, it was over.  

Angry and defeated, I wandered around looking for the guys.  I found them happily sitting in the grass celebrating a measly few finds.

“What happened back there?? You totally dropped the ball!” I looked to Matt for some answers.

“I mean, I didn’t know other parents were going to help. I think you should relax a little, Amanda.  The prizes aren't even a big deal. This is just so the kids can have some fun!”

“Relax? FUN?? This is ridiculous! There was nothing fun about being obliterated back there and walking away empty handed. I HATE EASTER EGG HUNTS!” I stomped off towards our car while Matt kept his distance and again pretended not to know me. He told me I should "take a nap and get control of myself" before the afternoon.  

My behavior there has come under investigation and I’ve been placed on probation for any upcoming games (or social gatherings) until further review. Matt said if I don't learn how to handle my crazy, there will be consequences.

The take away here? 
1)Take my own car next time.
2)Easter Egg hunts are from the DEVIL!








on eating. and then not.

your other mother