We are by-the-seat-of-our-pants parents. Sure there are times when I am unimaginably organized, but for the most part, my best ideas come right from my ass. Like two Saturdays ago.

We arrived at our house after a very successful family trip to the YMCA and to the grocery store afterward, no meltdowns. The kids had just begun to ride their bikes when I remembered Hubby reading out loud to me one morning, from his new perch at the kitchen island, that there was an Easter egg hunt on March 20^th. “The 20^th ?” I said, “Isn’t that a bit early?” And that was the end of the conversation because I was getting someone milk, cooking bacon, and shoving the dogs outside. I also remembered that between hearing, “Why are you wearing goggles?” and “Do you need someone to wipe you?” I heard Hubby mentioned that their age group started at 3pm.

It was 2:42pm. I ran inside, Googled “Easter Egg Hunt, Raleigh, March 20”, and found the park- three miles from our house. “Hey, who wants an adventure?!” I yelled out the garage door. A frantic run to a moving box upstairs resulted in one Easter sack and a My Little Pony Halloween basket. I returned to the car and found Hubby had wrangled the dogs into the sunroom and strapped the girls in their car seats. I jumped in and looked in the rear view mirror to see China Doll sporting her sister’s bike helmet. Considering the time, I decided not to give a shit.

At 2:55pm, we arrived at the nature park and joined the line of cars crawling toward the parking lot. Out my window, I saw a massive crowd forming in distant field.

“Get out!” I said.

 “What?” Hubby replied.

“Take the girls and get out! I’ll find a spot,” I urged.

“But what if you miss it?” Hubby said. We held a touching look.

“I will find you!” I pledged.

With that, he ripped the girls out of their cars seats, threw China Doll over his shoulder, and took off through the field.

I turned back to the traffic, “Fucking moooove!” I then apologized to God for not having a very Eastery attitude. He must have forgiven me because an old couple pulled out of a space just as I reached the parking lot. I sprang from the car and broke into a run. As I came over the hill, the air shot out of my lungs. An official-looking woman surrounded by a sea of parents was talking through a bullhorn. “Damn. I’ll never find them,” I thought. Then I saw my only hope: the poor underpaid college student in the Easter Bunny suit. I was panting when I reached him, “Easter… Bunny! Have…. a dad … two girls…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Bike helmet?” He nodded and pointed to one side of the crowd.  I kept running.

I’ve never been happier that my husband wears baseball hats, but I had to push and trip my way through the circle of parents protecting their spot around a large field littered with plastic eggs. (Exactly where does the ‘hunting’ come in?) The anticipation was so palpable one would think the eggs were filled with college scholarships. Hubby of course was oblivious to the tension; he later admitted he was distracted by a mom dressed like a stripper.

“3….2…Go!” I made the mistake of assuming the hunting was to be done by the children. I saw Rafael run forward but lost her in the melee. Parents were unknowingly slamming tiny China Doll back and forth like a pinball. Thank God for that bike helmet. I ran to steady her, dropped to my knees, and started throwing eggs in her basket but within seconds all I could see was grass and feet. Luckily, she scored a tulip sucker ring so having only five eggs in her basket was of no concern. Rafael wasn’t as satiated. She is old enough to be bewildered. Near tears, she rode through the crowd on Hubby’s shoulders, “It’s over?” I could relate- that’s exactly how I felt about losing my virginity; however, after trying to explain what the fuck that Easter egg hunt was about, explaining unsatisfying sex will be a breeze. “Besides, we’re going to another one next weekend. It’s no big deal,” was my copout.

March 27, 8:45am: My stomach was so tense; it was as if we were driving to battle. Ice Age distracted the kids as hubby and I fought to find the damn park with my Google map and his Garmon Tom Tom. This time, we are early. This time, I have Easter pails from the Dollar Tree. This time, it’s war.

After an erroneous turn through UNC campus, we arrived. 10,000 eggs lay waiting in three different fields. A band inspired us for battle by singing hip versions of kids’ songs. As we lined up around the massive 2-4 yr old field, parents started jockeying for position, armed with heavy photographic artillery. Hubby and I decided on the divide and conquer play; he took Rafael since his shoulders can barrel through any skirmish. I found a quiet corner for China Doll hoping to prevent any parental ambush. “Now, I want you to run to the middle and grab as many as you can,” was the advice of the parent next to me, “none of these littler kids will make it to the middle before you.” The man to my right was chatting urgently in Japanese into his bilingual son’s ear to assure strategic secrecy. I realized no one was safe. Like a cheetah on her prey, I kneeled behind China Doll ready to pounce.

It should have been a fair fight. The morning DJ who announced the rules said the hunting was to be performed by the kids. Only an amateur would believe that. When the starter gave the war cry, parents leapt over the colored ribbon and began shoving eggs into their kid’s buckets. I grabbed China Doll under her armpits and ran her to the middle, beating the little shit next to us by three strides. I plopped her down and said, “Grab whatever you want, honey!” I did the same. It was still over in a flash but, like the second time I had sex, I felt like we at least participated.

China Doll scored ten eggs primarily filled with fake gold coins and cheap, plastic eye patches (WTF?) but she didn’t care, she got a peppermint candy. I was more worried that Rafael survived. She ran to us, elated, “Mom! I got a magic egg!” She held a pink plastic egg Sharpied with the number 20. That meant she was going to get a prize. As I grabbed her for a hug, I actually welled up. Not because she won a prize, but because as a family we had a small victory. Instead of being trampled on, we rose to the challenge. Instead of feeling like we had been taken in a scam, we were willing contestants in the fiasco. But I can’t help but wonder, what does any of this have to do with Easter?