My Most Memorable Parenting Misstep
A comical recount of an Easter egg hunt that went hilariously awry, by Mia Thompson
I’ve had my fair share of moments where my kids shed tears over my parenting blunders. There was the time I attempted to bake a rocket cake for my son, which resembled more of a giant cotton swab. Or when my daughter decided that her birthday party was too chaotic and I stubbornly refused to send anyone home. And let’s not forget the Thanksgiving dinner incident when I told my son he couldn’t join us due to his relentless vomiting. A few holiday mishaps are just part of being a parent, right? But the first Easter I celebrated as a mother—when my child was old enough to join in on the fun—is the only time I’ve made a whole group of other people’s children cry. A whole bunch of adorable toddlers in their Easter outfits, no less.
Let me paint the picture. My first year with my son was a challenging one. He was a very fussy baby, I struggled with postpartum depression, and my husband was always busy. My social life was practically nonexistent. But when my son turned eighteen months, he finally started showing interest in other kids and wasn’t crying every moment of the day. So, with newfound spring optimism, I decided to join a mom’s group. The first big event? An Easter egg hunt at a local park. “This will be fun!” I thought. I felt so motivated that I even volunteered to bring eggs and show up early to hide them alongside a couple of other moms.
I was a bit anxious about chatting with new people while managing my energetic child, but with careful planning and determination, I managed to get my son to nap early, arrive on time, and hide those eggs before anyone else showed up. Success! I was feeling like Supermom!
When the kids were finally released to hunt for the brightly colored eggs, they scattered through the park as if it was second nature to them. I hurried to keep up with my son, who was charging ahead, and the sounds of giggles filled the air. Some kids were laughing, some were squealing, and yes, a few were crying, but that was to be expected at any group event. Usually, it was my kid who was upset, but not today! His face was glowing with delight!
We passed a child who was crying, clutching one of the eggs I had hidden. Poor thing, maybe yellow wasn’t her color? At least my son was having a blast! Speaking of which, he managed to find an egg, but when he opened it, it split in two and M&Ms spilled out. He gobbled them up before I even had a chance to react. His excitement skyrocketed, but I felt my own joy start to dwindle.
A sense of unease crept in. But there was no turning back; my son was on a mission to find as many eggs as possible. I remembered where I had hidden some, so when he grew frustrated, I directed him. When he stumbled upon another egg, he opened it only to discover it was empty. Instead of placing it in his basket, he tossed it aside in disappointment.
He was upset; I began to feel queasy.
A warning bell rang in my head, but we pressed on, because what else could we do? Once the hunt wrapped up, we returned to the picnic area. The kids examined their treasures while I eyed my car across the parking lot. I barely knew these other parents; would anyone notice if I slipped away? But it was too late. The kids began to open their eggs one by one. Some were thrilled to discover treats inside, thanks to the “good” moms who clearly knew what they were doing. Those kids squealed over foil-wrapped chocolates, pastel jellybeans, and fluffy marshmallow chicks.
But then there were the others—sweet little toddlers who had opened my empty eggs and burst into tears.
I averted my gaze to a nearby tree, desperate not to look at the crying children, or else I might start crying too. I was at a loss for what to do. Should I say something? Apologize?
Then one mom spoke up loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Why are so many of these eggs empty?”
An awkward silence fell over the group. I glanced around, at the tree, and then back at my car one last time before I admitted, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize they were supposed to be filled.”
The looks on their faces were unmistakable—who was I, and what had I done to ruin their egg hunt? These were nice women, but they were clearly puzzled and perhaps annoyed. I couldn’t fault them; I had made their children cry!
I probably should have claimed ignorance about Easter traditions. My husband is Jewish, and we had just celebrated Passover, but in that uncomfortable moment, I couldn’t bring myself to lie. The truth was that I grew up celebrating Easter, but my parents were health-conscious and didn’t allow much candy. I had simply assumed that the new plastic eggs were a more modern alternative to hard-boiled ones, less likely to stink up the house when forgotten.
As my optimism faded under the weight of their stares, my son began to cry too—screaming, actually. Who knew what was bothering him? He had found plenty of the other moms’ eggs, at least—but for once, I was relieved that my child was the fussiest one in the group. I clung to him like he was my lifeline.
“I’d better get him home,” I said, “He missed his nap.” It was a far cry from my Supermom aspirations, but at least a missed nap was a relatable issue among moms, and a few even offered me sympathetic “awws.” They were kind women, and not a single one yelled, “Go back to your rock!” though I could imagine that’s what they were thinking.
With as cheerful a “Great to meet you all!” as I could muster, I made my escape.
Wow, I thought as I took a deep breath and navigated familiar roads that now seemed to blur. Just when you think you’re getting the hang of things, life has a way of reminding you that you really don’t know much at all. My day had turned out to be the epitome of a typical parenting experience.
It would be a while before I ventured out again, and I vowed never to volunteer for any holiday events in the future. While those tear-streaked faces will forever be etched in my memory, I can only hope those adorable toddlers eventually forgot about the sad, empty eggs. As for my son, he hadn’t really missed his nap, but he still dozed off in the car with chocolate smudged on his face, cheeks flushed with a mix of joy, rage, and sugar. Bedtime was bound to be a disaster.
My only consolation as he cried himself to sleep in the backseat was that his Easter basket lay on the front seat beside me. By the time we reached home, my own face bore traces of chocolate too, and my cheeks were flushed with a different blend of dashed hopes, embarrassment, and sugar.
I wondered if I had time to call my mom before my son woke up.
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Summary:
In a light-hearted recounting of a parenting mishap, Mia Thompson shares her experience of unintentionally making a group of toddlers cry at an Easter egg hunt. Despite her efforts to create a joyful event, she discovers the importance of understanding traditions and the expectations that come with them. The story serves as a humorous reminder that parenting is full of surprises and lessons, often learned the hard way.