Easter Egg Hunt - Who Is The Real Hunter...You or Your Baby???

As seen in post from 10/2011
On a particularly sweltering Easter Sunday in South Carolina, my parents and I, along with my two toddlers ventured out to our first-ever Easter egg hunt.  Jump castles, face painting and games galore were scattered across a great, green lawn behind a church right in town.  Thankfully, ice water stations were abundant and I didn’t have to worry as much about my father or my boys. 

The jumpy house for toddlers had the fewest in line.  It always seems awkward–you throw your little tyke into an enclosure of mesh so he can bounce into a mess of strange, random little kids.  We smile at them from the outside; patiently watching them go up and down, side to side, even get a little trample or two. Before long they’re bored and they slide out. 

My 15-month old was too young to participate in the egg hunt, which I soon would realize why—so he stayed with my parents in the shade of some pines.  I found our designated spot and prepared for the hunt.  As we lined up, a various mixture of moms and dads with one or more children, I realized we still had time to wait before the ribbon was cut. 

Under the hot sun, 20 minutes ticks by, seemingly longer than it does at the while you’re waiting in the doctor’s office wearing a paper dress.  How do you explain the time issue to an excitable toddler who can see hundreds of colorful eggs lying just in front of us?   As we stand, beads of sweat forming on my brow, a direct order from the sun; adults readied, closing in tighter and tighter at the ribbon, waiting for the volunteers to cut it already.  I wanted my boy to get a lot of eggs.  But I worried about the other parents.  Did they have a plan?  So…quickly I devised one.  We will book it, Ninja-Warrior style, to the middle and I’d kick eggs to my boy who will swiftly scoop them into our basket.  I told my two-year-old of our master plan.

Finally, we see a chopper nearing us.  The draw to this particular egg hunt was the promise of a helicopter flying direct and low over our field of eggs.  Sure enough, they followed through as promised.  This moment elated me as I saw my son’s eyes fill with wonder as his hair wisped a dance of excitement; the little bunny nose they’d hand painted on his cheek now smudging down his smiling little face.  We cheered as the helicopter dropped those colorful plastic eggs into the roped-off hunt zone that beckoned us to begin!  As it flew off, I was suddenly aware of butterflies in my stomach.  What was this feeling?  I just wanted to make darned sure my happy little boy stayed this way and grabbed his worth in eggs.

This was the moment, folks; the birth of my parental competitiveness.  I’d seen it on TV with pageant moms and baseball dads.  I didn’t know I had it in me.  But suddenly, with my legs poised for the race, I had one mission.  GET. LOTS. OF. EGGS.  In my imagination, I held my son like an NFL running back with a football, heading for the end zone. I don’t remember the ribbon coming down; I just remember blocking and ducking and kicking and scooping.  With about 30 eggs in my basket, I felt triumph!  We won!  I cheered with my son who could’ve cared less if we had gotten 10 eggs.  I was proud.  Oh, the glory!

Almost immediately, the guilt kicked in.  Was that poor sportsmanship or was I defending my little son against those rascally four-year-olds?   I decided I needed to redeem myself, so I kneeled down to my son’s level and told him to look for a little girl who didn’t have any eggs–or very few eggs–and to give her some of ours…what’s wrong with me???  I’m even calling these eggs ours, instead of his. 

Ultimately, the arrival of this competitive mom surprised me and I’m intrigued to learn more about her.  I know she will come in handy when it comes to my children’s grades and their utmost success.  Though I also know I need to keep it in check and not become one of those moms!

Go on out there!  Proudly shout out your child’s name!  Encourage them.  Ultimately, just remember to be gracious and respect the other kids and parents out there.  Even if it means giving up a few eggs.

Give It Up Ladies-No Mom is Perfect!

It's funny, thinking back on the misconceptions I'd had about parenting prior to giving birth to my daughter, Callie.  There were several ideas I'd had in my head about how my life as a parent would go, and actually, many of which were wrong.  By the time I had my son Clayton, I had it all figured out.  Don't judge, don't assume (we all know what happens when you ass-u-me) and definitely don't think you are going to be perfect.  Seriously, you will be eating your words.

   My kids were never going to eat too much sugar.  They were never going to watch SpongeBob.  They would be in bed by 8pm every night and they darn sure wouldn't be sleeping in any bed but their own!  By the time they were one-year-old, they'd be off the bottle, and if they had a pacifier, guess what peeps...that would be gone too.  My kids would never be the ones throwing food at the fancy restaurant, or talking back, or being a brat in public.  We'd spend evenings similar to the Brady Bunch or the Cleavers, eating dinner together and chatting about our day, followed up by a puzzle or some other family-fun, learning-type activity.  Ha!  How ignorant I was!

   Can I give you sound advice from a real-life mommy of two kiddos?  Shut your mouth.  Seriously!! When you want to give unsolicited advice to another parent, or when you think for two seconds you know more than someone else about being a mommy...don't go there.  There's nothing that pisses me off more than a person who a) has no kids or b) has less kids or a younger child than me telling me that Callie or Clayton shouldn't do this, or shouldn't do that.  Unless you are my mom, or I ask for your advice...please keep it to yourself.  I'm not an idiot! I watched other parents and said the same exact things...trust me. And guess what friends, Karma is a real you know what.  It was my kids (both of them) throwing food at the restaurant, or talking back in front of company.  Or going to bed super late after watching SpongeBob.  Both my kiddos have slept in our bed off and on, and I'm just thankful to be able to use the word functional when I describe my family.  We are who we are, and we are far from flawless.

   I love the mother I have become, and I love the children I have made and taught and loved.  However, I know that I was just like all the other moms out there, I wanted to be perfect, I wanted to be the best...I judged others thinking I'd do better.  This race of motherhood isn't a competition of who can finish last with the fastest time on the clock, it's a silent war we must conquer in order to come out whole and sane when we cross that finish line.  It's just getting there that is the true victory.

~Trina