Stimulus Eggs

It has taken me all week to tell you about the great weekend I had over Easter.  First there was the not-so-fun travel adventure from Connecticut to Florida, then there was my baby shower, and then my sister got engaged.  What could possibly be left?  Well, Easter morning, of course!

We went to church at the church that I grew up in.  I love that church.  Its not only where I grew up, but where I was married and where my sister will be married now, too.  I know the people and the pastors like my own family, and going back there is truly going home for me.  Now, I tend to get a little emotional during church services.  Nothing major, just a little teary at a particularly touching prayer or if one of my favorite hymns is sung.  And I’m always inclined to tear up a bit more during holiday services.  I have so much to be thankful for and sometimes prayers just don’t do it, so I guess I show my thanks in the form of smudgy mascara.  But something happened during this past weekend’s Easter service.  I lost it.  Completely lost it.  It started during the opening prayer when we were giving thanks for the renewal and rebirth of the Easter season.  Something about that prayer just set off the water works.  And then came my favorite hymn, “Because He Lives.”  I thought I was going to have to sit down.  I was crying full on now.  Not the dainty “isn’t that sweet” kind of crying.  I mean the heaving, nose running, puffy eyed, huff and puff crying.

Chris looked over at me with this horrified look on his face.  This isn’t the kind of church where people just break out into tears like this, and I was causing quite a scene.

“What’s wrong with you?” he whispered.

“I don’t know!”  I heaved.

“Well, get it together!”

I tried the best I could, but then the choir started singing the freaking Hallelujah Chorus!  And children were singing in the choir!  Sweet little cherub children in white robes!  With handbells!  Now, how am I supposed to keep it together when the Hallelujah Chorus is being sung like that???  Oh, it was awful.  And the only thing that made me feel better was that there was another pregnant woman sitting in the pew in front of me and she was huffing and puffing the same as I was.  Its just those holy hormones, I tell you.

After Easter church, Chris and I left my family and headed over to his family’s house for their big Easter lunch and Easter egg hunt.  I ate way too many deviled eggs and really overdid it on the mashed potatoes, but when Chris’ grandmother is cooking, you just don’t turn anything away!  All through lunch, Chris talked about the Easter egg hunt.  Surprisingly, in the ten years that we have been together, I’ve never spent Easter with his family.  I have heard fables and myths of the legendary Brown Easter Egg Hunt, but I had yet to experience it myself.

In the Brown Easter Eggs, there are not jelly beans or M&M’s.  There is money.  Big money.  Like $5 or $10 an egg.  And then there is one or two Golden Eggs that hold between $20 and $50.  Chris said when he was younger, he used to leave Easter with $50 or $60 in his pocket.  I asked him if he thought we were too old to hunt Easter eggs, but he insisted that everyone hunted.  His Granddad hid them in sneaky places, and then everyone else hunted.  Great!  But when it came time to hunt the eggs, I noticed that most of the adults were hanging out on the porch, drinking and eating and talking, while the middle school-aged children hunted for eggs.

I looked down at my wedding ring, and then to my very pregnant belly, and then to the Easter egg basket I was carrying.  Was I too old to be hunting for eggs?  I was married and WITH CHILD.  Maybe that disqualified me from hunting.  And when I looked out in the yard, there was Chris standing in the middle of a group of middle school boys, throwing elbows and fighting for eggs just like the rest of the CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 13.

I called his name and pulled him aside.

“Chris, I don’t think we’re supposed to be hunting these eggs.  I think its for the kids,” I whispered.

“What are you talking about?  I’ve been doing this egg hunt since before these kids were born!”  he insisted.

“I realize that, but that would be why you are 15 YEARS OLDER THAN ANYONE ELSE HUNTING EGGS!”

“I don’t care,” he said.  “I just found a $20 egg.”  And he ran off.

I stood there for a minute, contemplating which group I belonged in.  With the women on the porch who sat in lawn chairs wearing Bunny-themed sweaters, drinking mimosas, and talking about tennis tournaments and the PTA, or out in the yard with the 13-year-olds, fighting for money-filled eggs.

Finally, I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed my basket and headed out into the yard.  Married, pregnant, of drinking age – none of that seemed to matter when there was a $50 egg lurking out there somewhere to be found.  And so Chris and I spent our Easter hunting eggs, like he had done his entire life.

It was the easiest and most rewarding $35.00 I’ve ever made.