Easter

This morning we held the annual Leavitt Easter egg hunt. Bestowing such a title on the event makes it sound elaborate, institutionalized, and systematically produced. In reality, we put old toys, slips of aged construction paper, and stale candy in recycled plastic eggs.

I sifted through a box filled with Matchbox cars I played with when I was elementary school-aged, chose a few, and stuffed Halen's eggs with them. He never suspected his "new" toys are actually 25 years old. He happily raced his new toy 1977 Volkswagon bug (painted in a revolting 70s shade of mustard with hideous tomato-colored ellipses on the hood and roof) across the carpet, joyously crashing it with his 1978 Mazda Silvia (no one's ever even heard of that model).

Savannah's eggs were filled with slips of paper upon which we wrote "messages from the Easter bunny". Shannon vetoed my suggestion to include practical messages like "Clean your room!" and "Your shoes are on the wrong feet!" and "Eat more fiber!" Instead, Savannah got more uplifting messages from the Easter bunny -- the biggest stretch was one that read "You sing with such a beautiful voice!" Bless my daughter, she sings with gusto. And any four year-old voice is angelic in a way, but she has yet to find a key to sing in -- any key, let alone the right one.

Both children got a few eggs filled with chocolate malt balls. Halen ate a couple, then decided they weren't to his liking; he fed the rest to me. I really like that kid.