The League Of Mums Who HAVE To Ensure Our Kids Find SOME Easter Eggs

So we went to our church Easter Egg hunt recently, and of course it is one of those events where lotsa non-church members will buy tickets (way to “dodge a bullet”? But it’s true, they have brilliant activities that everyone from non-church-goers to people from different churches will visit… Besides, even if I flat out said “ALL Christians Are (not to be confused with “aspiring to be”) Christ-like Shiny Happy People Or At Least Everyone At My Church Is” no one would believe me. <snort>)

Anyway, here’s how challenging being “Christian” can be, in parenting when it’s your kids involved. Especially in parenting. (And it really brings new meaning to a father giving up his son to the most horrible of deaths for a people who don’t deserve it but anyway.)

So, never having been to one of these and thinking we are to follow-to-the-T the bit of information in the email that said the exact time they were starting the 5-year olds’ event, that’s when we show up with a snuffly Miss and super-excited Rockstar. I deposit Rockstar among the kids of markedly varying heights (him still perpetually one of the littlest and youngest – no way some of these kids are 5, but then this is meant to be a fun family picnic and I think in the end it was just too hard to keep everyone to the original timings..) and move to join Kings and Little Miss seated on a little grassy mound to watch. Fortunately I did not move too far off.

We arrived towards the end of an earlier hunt… and missed witnessing the initial mad rush…

The egg-hunt starts, and people sprint up the mounds “looking” for eggs. I mean you could call it that, but really then what “looking” is, is the free-for-all-shopping spree after Thanksgiving but with little kids and their parents. At least though, that I know of no one got hurt or into fights.

Rockstar is prancing happily in the opposite direction because he’s simply all excited he’s on an Easter Egg hunt when everyone else is seriously going after those eggs. Skipping excitedly and so innocently, my son’s view of the world and Easter Egg hunts. Not unlike Bambi before someone fancies a veal steak.

That’s when I decide to go with. Because it is his first real egg hunt and abruptly it occurs to me this will not end well if there is not a single egg left for him to find by the time he gets round to looking.

There! Purple egg!! It’s the only one I see, all the easily visible ones have been scooped up lightning quick. Now I know why people are sprinting.

It’s all I can do to not pick that egg up immediately and instead risk someone else getting it as I wait for Rockstar. I really am scared an older child is going to scoop it into their basket as Rockstar clambers, slips, clambers his way up to me and the egg. After that we’re up on the hill and can see everyone else on this hill has tubs brimming with eggs.

My son just has the one egg. Please God, please let him find more. 

I am not kidding. That is my prayer as I watch my son watch all the other kids with filled tubs. Then I spy about a half doz little dots of color, almost totally hidden by the bush. No one’s looking there because you have to seriously scrabble under those slightly prickly leaves to get at the nest. Thank God. Thank you God. And I don’t care if you think I’m being melodramatic. Lets see you stomach your ecstatic child coming up empty handed after watching everyone else scramble for eggs.

Rockstar cautiously scrabbles over and then patiently pushes the prickly leaves aside, tries to get under that bush. Now you can see them more clearly. That’s when I hear someone call out in Cantonese, “Come get these eggs!”

I eye the approaching boy’s tub. It is so full of eggs he would almost have to carefully stack any new ones on or have them roll off his already full haul. “Wah rather hard to get those wor,” his mum says.

My son just has the one purple egg in his little clear plastic tub. He’s been watching all the other kids with much fuller tubs. He’s really trying to get in there for eggs people either didn’t see or thought were too much work to get at.

“Hurry, Rockstar.” I hear the words out of my mouth before I can stop them, and feel slightly ashamed. This is a hunt organized by my church, after all. But…. sadly, I’m not very sorry. Would you be? Even if Rockstar picked all those eggs up he wouldn’t have as many as this other kid already has. This is where I cross over to the dark side. The other mum glances at me, says nothing. Had she further encouraged her son to fight for eggs, I would’ve provided the other hand for a most resounding clap. This must be how otherwise rational, reasonable adults who unfortunately are also parents, get into fights.

This is like at that older kid’s birthday party when Rockstar watched other kids take bricks off his pile to build their own towers higher. As he tried to defend his last brick and it was wrenched out of his hand by an older girl with a very scornful expression, he burst into tears. I hadn’t learnt to react fast enough then. Is this something parenting in HK teaches you, or is it parenting everywhere?

All around us, everyone else leaves my tiny son to slowly clamber under those leaves on the gravelly, leafy slope.

This is the thing I don’t know how to teach Rockstar, don’t even know if I should. Heck, I don’t even know if I could. Rockstar doesn’t think to hurriedly scoop everything into his own tub when the other kid comes competing for eggs. I don’t know if he ever does, when I’m not there, nor do I know which I would prefer.

Rockstar shows me his tub and beams. Now I can relax and enjoy the hunt, as I make a pretense of “searching” for more, with him. He roams randomly. We pass other kids with tubs. These were probably not among the high-achieving kiasu egg-hunters, so they’ve got a few eggs but not a whole tub of ’em. “I’ve got more, Mum,” Rockstar mutters, and I hope the others don’t hear him. “Some have more than you and some have less,” and he nods – he doesn’t have that many more. Then we pass another kid with just two.

Would that be enough for him, is he happy with those?
(At the time, I don’t know that the eggs are actually empty and even if you find just one you redeem it for the same Angry Birds goodie bag. That’s a good plan.)

I know it’s just eggs, but… He blesses us so we can bless others. We’re supposed to try. 

I badly want to call out to the other kid and offer for Rockstar to share his haul. But I haven’t discussed it with Rockstar and I don’t want to risk turning my own son’s first hunt into a shambles if I don’t clear it with him before offering his eggs. The other boy disappears quickly behind us. And then Rockstar spies Kings and Little Miss at the top of the next slope and I realize the moment is gone – I don’t know where that kid is and Rockstar isn’t listening because he’s too busy showing Kings his eggs. What’s that we learn, true worship involves sacrifice. It costs nothing, it’s worth what it costs. It’s just an egg hunt, but I honestly feel a bit guilty – yes I prayed for little plastic eggs, but what I was really praying for was that my son’s feelings would be spared. Then we had a chance to spare another child’s feelings and I hesitated. (You guys who haven’t had your egg hunts yet – now’s your chance, remember this!)

Back at goodie bag redemption, I spy old friends (and by “friend” I mean we really, really love this godly Korean family and fervently wish they didn’t live in “Siberia,” only making it up to this part of the island for IslandECC events like this – we’ve made it to their home…… once. They’ve made it halfway to meet us at Sai Kung……… once. (YES can you imagine Sai Kung is halfway point between our homes). Four parents here, the only one who drives is Kings.) But at least I can warn Kate about Kiasu Egg-ing, and to be sure her son at least finds something – that’s all he needs to redeem his goodie bag.

“Oh!! Okokok we’ll talk later! See you see you!” I think like me, she was otherwise thinking to leave him to hunt for eggs himself. I notice he’s not exactly rushing off to snatch up any eggs either, and I recognize a fellow member of The League Of Mums Who Have To Ensure Our Children Find Some Easter Eggs.

In some weird acknowledgement of karma, we try to help each other. Because we don’t want to be the other mums, the ones who send their kids after more, even when their tubs are full. But we do worry our kids won’t have any. We do this hoping someday, somewhere, someone else cares whether our kid has only one or two eggs.

Someday we might print t-shirts. Secret handshakes are a little harder to swing.

I know I put this up too early, but ah well…

Finally reaching the front of the queue, we redeem our bag and are about to leave, when I spy Kate with Christopher towards the end of their hunt. They look pretty relaxed.

Christopher has two eggs in his tub.

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“Okay. Now you’re just showing off.”

 Just in case I didn’t think it was ok, He reminds us He is good, so good, praise the Lord.

And then we went home and steam-bathed Her Highness. She’s had 3 of those a day, good thing she likes baths…