I’ve had my fair share of moments as a mom that have brought tears to my kids’ eyes. There was the time I attempted to bake a Saturn V rocket cake for my son’s birthday, and it ended up looking more like a giant tampon. Then, there was the birthday party where my daughter declared it too crowded and I (perhaps unkindly) refused to send half the kids home. Not to mention the Thanksgiving fiasco when I told my son he couldn’t attend dinner due to his projectile vomiting. A few parenting blunders are inevitable, right? But the first Easter I celebrated as a mom, with a child old enough to join in, is the only holiday where I inadvertently made other people’s children cry—lots of them. Adorable toddlers dressed in their Easter finest.
Let me paint the picture. My first year with my son had been challenging. He was a fussy baby, I struggled with postpartum depression, and my husband was always busy. I didn’t get out much. However, when my son hit eighteen months, he finally began to show interest in other kids and had stopped screaming most of the time. In a burst of spring optimism, I decided to join a moms’ group. The first big event on the schedule was an Easter egg hunt at a local park. “This sounds fun!” I thought. “I can totally handle this!” I was so pumped that I even volunteered to bring eggs and arrive early to hide them with a couple of other moms.
Sure, I felt a tad nervous about chatting with new people while tending to my active child. But with lots of planning and effort, I got my son to nap early and managed to hide the eggs before everyone else showed up. Victory! Supermom was on the scene!
When the gaggle of kids was finally released, they charged into the underbrush, searching for their colorful treasures as if they were born for this egg hunt. I hustled to keep up with my son, who was in full egg-hunting mode. Laughter and cheers filled the air, while a few kids cried—not unusual in any group gathering, usually it’s my kiddo! But this time, my son’s face beamed with joy.
As we passed a little girl who was crying, I noticed she was holding one of the eggs I’d hidden. Poor thing! Maybe she didn’t like yellow? Who knows! At least my son was still enjoying the hunt! Speaking of which, he found an egg, but as he opened it, it split in two, spilling M&Ms onto the ground. He quickly gobbled them up before I could intervene. My excitement began to wane as uneasiness started to creep in.
No turning back now—my son was determined to find as many eggs as he could. I remembered where I’d hidden some, so when he got restless, I directed him. When he cracked open an egg and found it empty, he tossed it aside in frustration. My heart sank.
A warning bell rang in my mind, but we finished the hunt because what else was there to do? Once the hunt ended, we returned to the picnic area. While the kids examined their treasures, I eyed my car across the lot, contemplating an early escape. Would anyone even notice if I slipped away?
But it was too late. The kids began to open their eggs, one by one. Some had filled baskets with goodies from other moms—good moms. Those lucky kids squealed with delight over chocolates, jelly beans, and marshmallow chicks. Meanwhile, the toddlers who had searched my areas were left with a pile of empty shells, and their cries echoed around the park.
I focused on a nearby tree, trying to avoid the sight of the crying children. What should I say? Should I explain? Then, one mom broke the silence, asking, “Why are so many of these eggs empty???”
I glanced around, the weight of the moment heavy, and finally admitted, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize you were supposed to fill them.”
The moms stared at me, their expressions a mix of confusion and annoyance. I had made their children cry! I probably should have claimed ignorance about Easter traditions. My husband is Jewish, and we had just celebrated Passover after all. But in that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to lie. I had grown up with Easter celebrations, but my parents were sugar-free enthusiasts, leading me to believe those plastic eggs were an easy alternative to the boiled ones I used to hunt. It had never occurred to me that they needed filling!
As the last glimmers of spring optimism faded under the weight of those stares, my son joined in the crying. Who knew what had upset him—he had found plenty of eggs from the other mothers, after all. I clung to him like a life raft. “I’d better get him home; he missed his nap.” Supermom was fading fast, but at least a missed nap was something every mom could relate to. I even received a few sympathetic “awws.” They were nice moms; not one of them shouted, “Go back to your rock!” even though I’m sure that thought crossed their minds.
With a weak “Great to meet you all!” I made my escape. As I took deep breaths and navigated familiar roads that blurred before my eyes, all I could think was how quickly things had turned. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, parenting humbles you in the most unexpected ways.
I decided it would be a while before I ventured out again and vowed never to volunteer for another holiday event. Still, I can only hope those adorable toddlers forgot about the sad, empty eggs. My son hadn’t actually missed his nap, but he dozed off on the ride home, his face smeared with chocolate, cheeks flushed from a mix of joy, fury, and sugar. Bedtime was bound to be a disaster.
As he cried himself to sleep in the backseat, I felt some solace knowing his Easter basket rested beside me. By the time we pulled into the driveway, my cheeks were stained with chocolate too—my own mix of disappointment, embarrassment, and a hint of sugar. I wondered if I had time to call my mom before my son woke up.
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Summary:
In a humorous recount of an Easter egg hunt gone awry, Jessica Reed shares her experience of accidentally making a group of adorable toddlers cry. After a challenging year of motherhood, she enthusiastically volunteered for the event, only to discover that she misunderstood the essential tradition of filling plastic eggs with treats. As her son thrived in the hunt, other children faced disappointment, leading to an embarrassing moment that reminded her of the unpredictability of parenting.
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