"The Egg-Stravaganza Debacle" or "Do unto others."

Last Saturday, I got some ants in my pants and decided to take the kids to the 100.3 Egg-stravaganza Easter Egg Hunt down at This is the Place park in SLC. Well, we packed some snacks, coats and baskets and set off.

The ride down was wonderful. We had a good time talking to each other and hanging out. Rivulet fell asleep. We arrived and I decided to be smart, and instead of attempting to park in the visually over-full parking lot, I just pulled off onto a side street and parked the car. We had 20 minutes to spare. We were SO going to make it on time.

So where are all the pictures of our wonderful adventure? There are none. Because the wonderful stopped there.

We exited the car into a beautiful March afternoon. It was sunny and warm, birds were singing and we were all in high spirits. Even Rivulet, who was only refreshed by her 30 minute nap. We followed the the droves of people who were walking into the park.

It's unfortunate that I didn't know the entrance to the park was nearly 3/4 of a mile away - uphill - from where we had parked, despite the appearance of being only 30 feet from a viable entrance. Oh no, that was an entrance to the road that led to the parking which was near the actual park which was still downhill from the actual entrance. Well, it was still a nice day, and a walk has never killed us.

But then a large fluffy white cloud thought it might be fun to block out the earths source of heat, but only on This is the Place Park. Seriously! I could look behind us - into the valley - and there was sun. I looked up the mountain only a few yards from where the park ended, and there was sun. But noooo, we had to tough it out and walk in the freezing cold shade. But I was determined to get my kids some of the fun.

We finally arrived at the gate literally 3 minutes after the gates were opened. And all the eggs were gone. I'm not being dramatic. I'm not messing with you. 12,000 eggs were already claimed and in baskets. And I'd say about 50% of the baskets being filled and carried were done so by parents. Yeah, that's right. ADULTS were doing the Egg Hunting, while children held on to a stroller or another parent and watched the fun. Ugh.

Well, we thought, we'll at least get to reap the glory of the Candy Cannon. So when they told us over loud speakers that we needed to clear Main Street because the candy was going to make it all the way from top to bottom, we went about 1/4 the way down the lane from the actual cannon and waited with baited breath.
The Cannon fired, candy zooming into the air in a glorious arc. Then about 200 parents ran into the fray, scrambling to snag candy for their children. My son surged forward with the grown ups, it being too late for me to see what was really going on and stop him. We lost each other for a moment, but he came back to my side soon enough with tears streaking down his cheeks. All the parents were slopping candy into their children's' baskets and buckets while my son cried that he only got one piece, but when he dropped it, a big guy snatched it up.

I decided it would be better to get back to the car and buy them an ice cream.

We began the long trek back to the car. All this time, the fluffy encroacher remained just above us in the sky. And to add insult to injury, it became very windy and blustery. My poor children became very, very cold.

On the way down the hill, we saw a trolley train. We asked if we could ride in it. They asked if we were parked in the parking lot. I answered no. They answered no. My son began to cry again. Rivulet took it like a woman and marched stoically beside me, doing her best to ignore life's cruelties.

We continued our walk and I decided what we needed now was a change of attitude. So I said, "Let's list how we wish this day would have gone; tell a story about it."
That worked for a moment or two. We each did a run down of how we wish the day had panned out. Lemur was full of angst and hurt. Rivulet wanted a pony.
I apologized for my flightiness.

Then it was quiet between us again. So I attempted to play with my kids and take their mind off the fact that not only did they not get to hunt Easter Eggs or claim candy, but that they were so cold and ill-prepared that I had tied their arms up in their candy sacks, hopping to offer some protection from the cold. I'm great, I know. *rolls eyes*

So I suggested we play the Opposite Game. Rivulet declared that she was uninterested in playing any game of any sort, in so many words. So I turned to Lemur, "What's the opposite of light?"
L: *silence*
M: *being chipper* "Dark, right! Okay, your turn."
L: *silence*
M: *still desperately trying to change the mood around* "What is the opposite of silence, you ask? Well that's easy. It's talking! Hahaha!"

L: *with vehemence* "What's the opposite of me wanting to play this game?!"

Well, people were staring at me as I laughed at/with my son. He joined in soon after. And the day was redeemed a bit just a few yards later when a little boy saw Lemur and Rivulet, looking miserable and asked, "What's the matter with them?"
"We were too late to get any candy."
"That sucks," he answered.
"Yep. But we're okay."
The little boy ran off ahead of us. When we caught up with him and his brother and father at the light, he handed my children a piece of candy each. Lemur's eyes brightened and glistened with a different sort of tear.
"Thank you!" he said excitedly.
"No problem. I'd want someone to do it for me," the boy answered. His father looked very proud. And then we walked off in different directions.

We reached the car a few minutes later. I asked the kids if they still wanted to get ice cream. Lemur looked at his one piece of candy, a kindness from a stranger and said, "Nah, I'm good."