Egg hunts

Easter egg hunts are a fairly new experience to me.  For some reason, I have no memory of ever going to one as a kid. My mom says I went to a few, but she was afraid I would end up eggless, so she didn't want to take me. I have a different attitude, and make sure the kiddies get to go to one every year. As a toddler, my daughter was a true princess primadonna.  She would select an egg color she wanted, go out and look at the eggs before deciding whether or not it was perfect enough to grace her basket.  Her first hunt ended after selecting one egg with a nosedive on the tennis court used for the 0-2 age group.  She managed to skin her entire forehead and left a pitiful, bloody wailing mess.  She cheered up a little after eating the candy she found and recovered much more quickly than her traumatized parents and grandparents.  This was not what I was expecting but I refused to give up.  My child was going to experience this, and hopefully have fun doing so.  The following week, I dragged her to another hunt ( this time on a grassy field) and tried again.  I came prepared with an egg filled with m&m's in my pocket just in case she left with an empty basket.  The bunny started the hunt, and off she toddled.  She made a beeline for a certain peach colored egg and grabbed it.  After that, she wandered around, gathered a few dandelions and picked up a green top half of an egg. Relieved and amused by her successful adventure we examined her choice of egg. Amazingly enough, the sole egg she selected was the top prize egg for her division, and she proudly claimed the huge lime green bunny for her own.  Now we were preparing for little man's first hunt.  The night before this coming of age event, I presented him with his Jake bucket.  I sprinkled a few plastic eggs on the living room floor and told him to put them in his bucket.  Delighted, he scampered around and tossed them in his bucket.  When he finished, he sat down, dumped them out on his head, and started over again.  This continued over and over again  to Daddy and sister's delight.  By the time he was finished, he was saying "I am speed...fast" in his serious Lightning McQueen voice and having a marvelous time.  I was just happy he knew to put them in the bucket...regardless of color.  The next day was a blustery, cold day.  Armed with his bucket, he struggled to free himself from my firm grasp.  "I fast!" he muttered over and over.  Since parents were supposed to accompany his age group, I told him that I would carry his bucket.  He looked up at me with his innocent blue eyes and said, "yes I FAST Mommy!"  I had little reason to doubt this, but since there were so few eggs, so many kids, and 4 year olds mixed in with the 2 year olds, I checked that the filled "security" egg was still safe in my pocket.  When the time came, he bounded off, finally freed from my hand, and dashed for the first two eggs he could see.  He grabbed one in each hand, tossed them in the bucket and dashed for the next two.  In the thirty seconds that the hunt lasted, he managed to scoop up eight eggs.  He was absolutely thrilled to pieces.  There were no little slips of paper or age appropriate candy in any of his treasures, but he proudly carried his eggs to the car.  He held onto the empty plastic, mismatched eggs like they were gold.   To him, it was just the joy of the hunt and the plastic eggs were his treasure.  He didn't want a prize or even candy.  Each had their own victory to remember, she has her bunny, and he has his eggs.