I can’t remember an Easter when I haven’t had an Easter Trail to lay or an Easter Egg Hunt to plan. And while I have to admit that I haven’t missed the agonising wracking of the brains to think
up (i) clues or (ii) hiding places, this year does feel somewhat strange without the annual ritual.
Down in Wales, however, the Little Welsh Boys are engaged in
an indoor egg hunt of their own. When I contact them on Facetime this morning, they are rather too pre-occupied with the Search for Chocoholic Treasure to spend much time chatting. Sam, in particular, appears to have appointed himself as Hunter-in-Chief
– but then he is the oldest. Five year old James does break off from the search long enough to show me the DVD of Frozen which they have bought instead of Easter eggs with the money we sent them. Apparently the shop had sold out of eggs by
the time they got there. I am not sure if I completely believe this or whether it might have been a parental ploy to cut back on the boys’ chocolate consumption – be that as it may I think the DVD is a great idea. It will, after all, last
a lot longer than chocolate. My best conversation is with Young Morgan sitting on his Dad’s lap and singing songs with me – I suspect this is because he hasn’t quite grasped the idea that chocolate eggs are hidden all over the house.
Give the boy time....
One year Mr B and I spent Easter in Florida with Team Baldwin. The Youngest of the Darling Daughters and I had no end of trouble finding
the wherewithal for a decent Easter Egg Hunt in the American supermarkets. Easter doesn’t seem to be such a big deal over there – or have I missed something? We did, however, manage to buy a set of twelve colourful plastic eggs in which clues could
be hidden and which I am still using today. Or, rather, I would be using today if I were laying an Easter trail.
One of my best Easter Egg Hunts of recent
years (though I say it myself, as shouldn’t) was a Picture Trail for Sam and James when they were rather younger than today. I enlisted the help of Jack and Hazel who took photos of lots of objects in the house and garden from slightly unusual angles.
Each pictorial clue led, in turn, to another in time-honoured fashion. I seem to remember that, despite Jack and Hazel’s best efforts to confuse them with cunning photo angles, the two Little Welsh Boys (this was in the pre-Morgan days, though nowadays
it’s difficult indeed to imagine a World Without Morgan) proved astonishingly adept at solving the picture clues which eventually led them all the way to Easter Egg Treasure Trove.
After the Easter Service at Church this morning, the Minister doled out Cadbury’s creme eggs to all the children. By the time I reached the door (I’d been chatting to lots of people on my way out) all the kiddies
had departed and he still had some goodies left so, despite my Great Age, I was given an egg too. I carried it home to Mr B in great excitement and we divided it up between the two of us. No, I didn’t bother to hide it, that would have been just too
much trouble for a Mere Mouthful.
The Middle of the Darling Daughters says I can organise an Easter Trail for Young Faris when I see him next weekend. As
you know, he is But One Year Old so clues, pictorial or otherwise, will probably be beyond him, despite him being a Clever Lad. So I am taking along my Mega Blocks and am planning to create a trail of them for him to follow, collecting each colourful
block in his push-along trolley until he finds Harry Hopalot at the end of the trail. Harry Hopalot, by the way, looks like the type who stays cheerful against all adversity. He has brown and white ears and paws, a pink nose and an expression which
says, as clearly as anything: "Please don't eat me!" I don't hold out a lot of hope for him, bless the bunny.
The Middle of the Darling Daughters, on hearing
my plans, thinks Faris the Intrepid may well have his own idea what to do with the mega blocks. This is more likely to involve hurling the blocks here, there and everywhere than painstakingly collecting them and stowing them carefully in said trolley.
Harry Hopalot and I have been duly warned...