Yesterday, as my kids hunted for bright plastic eggs, I remembered a fiasco from Easters past.
My mom always hard-boiled a dozen eggs each for my sister and me to decorate. On Easter, we spent hours hiding and finding these eggs in our living room. We hid eggs inside my mom's collection of china teacups, balanced them in the folds of the heavy drapes, placed them inside my dad's record player, and rolled them under the couch. We were egg hiding pros.
One year, we finished our Easter afternoon with twenty-three eggs. This was a problem because a) we started with twenty-four and b) we were using REAL eggs.
We searched all over that room. My mom helped. My dad was called in for emergency back-up. We tipped our green upholstered rocking chair over. No egg. We shook out the heavy green drapes. No egg. We looked in every glass and china whatnot my mom owned. No egg. Finally, we gave up.
Not the best plan.
A few weeks later, we came home from school to THE SMELL.
Very few things in life can smell as pungent as an egg left out in a heated room for weeks. I haven't smelled anything quite like it again and I sincerely hope I never do.
Fortunately, with such a strong odor to guide us, we found the egg.
Told you we were egg hiding pros.