musings on an annual egg hunt.

My parents found ways to make ordinary days special when my sister and I were little.

Dad would say goodnight to us in our shared room, turn off the light when he left, and then wait a few seconds before turning the light back on and shouting, “BOO!” We’d dissolve into a fit of collective giggles before saying goodnight for real.

Mom would play “I Spy” with us on walks, or stop and encourage me to dance in any gazebo or tall building we passed.

They’d buy us black-and-white cookies or Entenmann's crumb cake donuts to make Sunday grocery shopping feel like a treat.

We’d sit and eat dinner together around the dining room table every single night, pretty much no questions asked. There was no TV allowed, no phones. Even on the nights when we’d sit in silence, everyone grumpy from their individual days, I somehow knew that it was a special gift.

As a kid, I never recognized the little things they did that said, “You are so loved. You are so wanted.” What kid does, really? But looking back as an adult, I’ve developed a new kind of appreciation and admiration for them.

This past weekend, my extended family gathered for our annual egg hunt.

We’ve been hosting this Easter egg hunt at my house since beyond the reaches of my memory. Each year, my aunt pulls out 400 eggs from storage, fills them with chocolate and special treats, and my dad and uncle distribute them around the yard while “the kids” hide in the basement.

“The kids” used to be me and my numerous cousins. Eventually “the kids” became us as teenagers and then adults. Now, “the kids” are our kids, a new generation of egg-seekers.

Even as time goes on, this egg hunt stays the same. It brings us together. It makes an ordinary Saturday special (it’s never on the actual day of Easter).

When I was telling a friend in Colorado about how thrilled I was to be in New Jersey for our annual egg hunt over brunch—“I’ll be there for the first time in six years!”—I couldn’t quite find the adequate words to describe why I was so excited.

I was trying to explain a feeling that I didn’t realize at the time.

I was trying to explain the feeling of nostalgia for the subconscious messaging that was created in my childhood. “you are so loved. you are so wanted.” 

You see, it wasn’t just the egg hunt.

It was the ways Mom and Dad made holidays, and even the ordinary days leading up to holidays, special. The ways that I had completely forgotten about until this moment at brunch, over a month ago.

Mom would put jelly beans on our pillows in the days leading up to Easter, while we were at school, if our rooms were clean. My sister and I would run into the house and dash upstairs, looking to see if we had impressed that Easter Bunny enough to get his treats of approval.

She’d have green milk and green mashed potatoes made for us on St. Patrick’s Day.

She’d have balloons and cards laid out for us with pink milk on Valentine’s.

They’d get up early and hide our Easter baskets in creative places so that when we woke up on Easter morning, we’d have a scavenger hunt to look forward to.

They put footprints in the snow to make it look like Santa (and sometimes, depending on snowfall and how early Easter was that particular year, the Easter Bunny) had actually visited us.

They worked with what they had to make each day feel special—holiday or not. To make each day magical in its own way.

I wasn’t excited to be home for the egg hunt this past weekend. I was excited to be home for the feeling of awe and magic that my parents wrapped up in holidays. The sensation that lives deep in my bones thanks to the two people who were always subconsciously telling me through their actions, “You are so loved. You are so wanted.”

Honestly, I have a hard time recalling specific childhood memories, aside from the ones that have become part of our family canon (you know, the ones that get retold over and over again).

Many of the small moments of my younger years have been forgotten by my conscious mind, but they’ve embedded in my DNA as “a good childhood.”

Vague recollections, but a general feeling of happiness.

I’m lucky that I had one. I’m lucky that I had parents who put everything into making that so.

Whether you had that or not, I hope that you find—or create for yourself—the moments that give you this same feeling. Not of the egg hunt, but of deep safety and love.

And if you haven’t heard it today: You are so loved. You are so wanted. 

if you need help believing it, I’ll always extend an ear.

With love,

Court.