For the Love of Eggs

For the record, I am not an Easter fan.

The bunny, the eggs, the baskets.  I don't care for them.  I do care about the Resurrection message, which sometimes seems like it gets pushed to the wayside, somewhere out there amongst Peeps, chocolate bunnies, and new Easter dresses. 

Without the Resurrection, Christians have nothing.  Anyway, that's not the point of the post. 

The point is, when you have a kid, things you don't like have to become things you have to do. 

 Like take them to places with baskets, eggs, and bunnies.

 He did not like collecting the eggs.  It just didn't make sense to him.  That is, until I showed him that the eggs actually opened up and there was a prize inside.  That got his attention.  For a minute.  Then he saw the swings and it was over.  

 Boogers.  Always boogers. ^^

 Ham.  And cheese.  How did I get so lucky? ^^


The very next day we received a surprise text from some new friends to meet them at another egg hunt.  Sure, why not?  It was held at the church I go to for my MOPS group and besides an egg hunt they had a bunch of activities for the kids to do inside. 

Like getting your first forearm tattoo.  At a church.  It did say He is Risen, so maybe that's okay?

 ^^Or finding out your kid loves karaoke.  When he grabbed the mic and yelled into it and caused the otherwise noisy gym to quiet down a few dozen decibels. 

 ^^ Or trying to not let him see the cupcake station.  He's like a bloodhound though when it comes to food.  He just knows. 

^^ And this activity was the one where he found out he could only have one cupcake (a bite, really) and he threw a fit and therefore was in timeout.  I'm pretty sure if that picture of his hand wasn't blurry, we would see he was flipping me off.  In church!  Right?!

In the end, the egg hunt was held in the sanctuary.  He was climbing under the pews all Army style to get to the eggs.  I lost him a few times.  Then he was upset and confused when he opened his eggs to find...nothing.  Because, you know, the tomb was empty, just like your eggs, kid.  Lesson learned. 

(Actually the kids got to trade their eggs in for much cooler stuff, like shotguns, grenades--the drink and/or the weapon--and pocket knives.  God's Army and all that.  **wink wink**).

Not to harp again, but please get on board and follow with Bloglovin' if you haven't already!  The sky is falling!