After church we gathered for gumbo at Grandmommy and Papaw’s. As usual, my son ate too much, groans, then slips out of his chair to lay on the floor by the table. He still joins in on the conversation from down there. My daughter always laughs at him, but usually ends up down there too. We’re all used to this by now.
See, they’re not too big for Egg hunts. It’s just more challenging to find hiding places.
One year, we never did find one of the eggs. After Hurricane Rita stripped leaves off of the bushes, we returned from evacuation to find the little egg right where they’d left it: in a hole in their chain link fence.
The rules are given, the baskets passed, and they’re off.
One is a bit more exuberant than the other.
I like it when they hide the eggs for my grandparents to find.
I really love my family.
(plundered, day 114)
(ttv52- week 16 )
I guess it’s a little late to say Happy Easter, but He’s risen every day, so it’s all good.