By Nici Holt Cline
Last Saturday we joined thousands of people at a giant, open lawn dotted with colored plastic eggs containing sweet things. I was amped for my two year-old to jog around, giggle with other toddlers and excitedly grab a few orbs whose contents were undoubtedly fantastic. You know that real, innocent kid joy based solely on the act of picking something and owning it. But, as soon as the clock tower donged 1pm, my little fantasy was trampled by insane parents and my own reaction to the insanity.
Really it was just one set of insane parents who happened to be on our side of the field. At the bell, the dad ran to the center of the field doing hurky jumps over eggs and kids, ensuring his position at the only two footballs that every child had been hopefully eyeing. He took both footballs. And then, with the woman-holding-kid now by his side, he got down on all fours and bear-hugged the lawn, raking eggs into his possession and scooping them into the little boy’s basket. I am pretty sure he was roaring and snorting while he was doing this. He may have been drooling.
After about four seconds it became clear that this event was going to be over before we could say Hey, dude, you are super lame for snagging the two footballs. And my brain moved to a different place. A place of survival, perseverance and calculated movement. This Mama was making sure her kid in the pink polka dot dress would be leaving with eggs in a basket. This consciousness was collective. Everyone around us got panicky and proprietary. Overwhelmed two year-olds held the hands of their mission-driven parents who collectively chanted in their heads: Must. Get. Eggs.
My mom and I silently worked together like trained ninjas, standing guard over glossy pastel eggs, encouraging Margot to fetch them. Other parents took to grabbing eggs themselves. It reminded me of my chickens when I throw a bowl of kitchen scraps in the backyard. FRENZY.
trained ninjas
We ended up with very few eggs and Margot was very pleased with the whole thing, purely happy to be with her people, outside, doing something totally weird. And her happiness brought my brain back from that other place. In fact, I think all the kids and their slow-paced, in-the-momentness grounded the egg-protective mama hens. My kid reminded me that the so simple things, those easily missed joys like holding hands with grandma all the way to the car or a plastic egg that’s half-blue and half-yellow, are what makes life endlessly rich and fulfilling.
She didn’t notice the kids who had dozens of eggs spilling out of their baskets and she didn’t care about those footballs or the man who took them. All she wanted was a green sucker and a ride on her dad’s shoulders. And, really, right then, that was all that mattered.
A fourth generation Montanan raising a fifth, Nici Holt Cline is a mama to Margot and Ruby, wife, gardener, crafter and runner who loves to write and take photos. She writes regularly on her popular blog dig this chick. You can read “Mama Digs” every Monday exclusively at www.mamalode.com. Read more of Nici’s mamalode articles here.
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I’ve heard much the same about “that” annual event. I’m pretty sure that if they used real eggs there’d be nobody there…
I was embarressed just to read about the dad with the footballs. I mean come on, really??
Frankly, if I had those awesome green boots, I wouldn’t care about any eggs at all. Good kid
I love the great lesson from Margot!!
and…….what a lame dad to take BOTH footballs:) He should have been kicked off the field!
We went to ‘that’ event once, and I was in such a nervous panic over kids getting lost that I vowed never to go again. I get really frustrated by parents modeling that kind of behavior, and a little freaked out by the mass hysteria feeling of the whole thing. Congrats on at least being able to take a grounded lesson from your beautiful girl!
I don’t think that I have “laughed out loud”, I mean really “laughed out loud” (not the fake LOL stuff) in a long time! “Must-Get-Eggs”, “Trained Ninjas”….you are one talented writer girlie. And then in a twist, I had tears in my eyes thinking of how your little girlie just took it all in and didn’t pay any attention to the craziness. Holding grandma’s hand, staring at different colored eggs, and lollipop in hand. Awww…gotta love little girls.
ps…what happens once you obtain the footballs?
Ugh. Someone needs to let the organizers of that event to limit the number of eggs each child can have. My town’s Egg Hunt is pretty mellow. There are age groups (0-2, 3-6, 7 and up) so that each age group has their own “field” and each kid can only take up to 8 (empty) eggs. They bring them to the organizers to exchange for a bag of goodies. The eggs are reused every year.
Love Margot’s easy spirit and green froggy boots! =)