So being good Americans, we decide to be PREPARED and DRILL for tomorrow, identifying any weak spots or issues in our egg hunting strategy.
While I was writing a long letter to the Easter Bunny (asking nicely that s/he doesn't poop in my house again this year), the kids hid the 28 dyed eggs that have lived in our fridge for about a week.
I find all the eggs -- the one under the cow that looked like he was pooping it out; the ones in the window sill and under the sofa; the ones inside the folds of the blanket (already crackled and falling apart).
So then it was my turn to hide eggs. I found the juicy spots -- behind Barack Obama, in front of the bookcase, among coloring books, on chairs.
And out they raced, throwing elbows.
He cried, she found more, he cried, she helped him.
The final tally? 16 eggs for her, 11 for him.
We kept looking.
Was the last egg by the Wii? under the coffee table? behind a sofa leg? no?
I did the only thing I could.
I called the Bunny Hotline. (My dad)
When the menu came up, I pressed option #2: "Finding Lost Eggs"
Warning the Bunny he was on speakerphone, I asked, "Please use your magic bunny powers to locate a missing egg. Um, not hidden by the offical bunny, of course, just a practice egg..."
"HI" he said in a squeaky chipmunk voice that barely disguised his New Orleans 9th Ward accent.
The kids laughed.
"Bunny? Where is that egg? Can you help?"
"HI!" he said again, in the same loud squeaky tone.
The kids laughed again.
"Bunny? Can you help me?"
"HI!" comes from the phone, again.
The kids laugh more, and Zack took the phone and said, "Hey? Are you a dumb bunny?"
I cover my mouth in shock, then whisper, "We don't SAY that!"
Zack walks away, continuing his interrogation.
Zoe, thinking maybe it was Papa on the phone, picks up the landline and calls her grandfather.
He answers her call with "HI!"
She laughs and the three of them embark on a three way conversation which I slip away from, trying to get back to my writing deadline.
Then I hear Zack shout, " HEY, I FOUND IT!" followed by a scuffling noise and "HEY, THAT's MINE!"
They race to me and she wins because he trips and quits, laying on the floor crying.
I step over him and pick up one of the two abandoned phones.
"Papa? You there?"
"I shouldn't have hidden eggs today. Bad idea, huh?"
After a minute he says, "Dumb bunny."
And -- stepping over the chaos and crying and general craziness that comes with kids before every holiday -- I get back to writing.