Growing up I was lucky enough to have a live-in Grandmother for a while. Mome. She had a big room at the back of the second floor with so many treasures hidden inside – a black and white television, a “no-no” drawer filled with lemon drops and pennies, and a precious black rock.
The rock wasn’t really a treasure, but it was to me. Mome would hide the rock somewhere in the nooks and crannies of her room and guide me to it in a game of “hot and cold.” I remember searching for that small black pebble. And I remember never being satisfied with just one game.
On Sunday Nora experienced her first Easter Egg hunt thanks to “Betty Dallas,’ my aunt who was visiting from, you guessed it, Dallas. She bought play-doh filled eggs and hid them, mostly in plain sight, in my parents’ side yard. We thought Nora would love finding the eggs and discovering their play-doh. We thought we’d pack them in her lamb basket and return to visiting and eating.
Nora had a different idea. She asked a very patient Betty (and almost every other visiting family member) to hide the eggs for her. She would cover her eyes, with one hand over one eye or split fingers over both, and wait for the next amazing hunt to begin. She didn’t mind if the eggs weren’t really hidden. She just wanted the experience of taking that plastic egg in her hand, looking at the admiring crowd and yelling, “I found it!”
She gets to do it all over again at daycare on Thursday. I’ve warned them that once is never enough.