He is risen, He is risen indeed!

I have hunted many an egg in this yard, the yard belonging to my grandparents. This year, it was my own kids searching for Easter treasure.

I swear there were as many eggs hidden this year (just for these five littles) as the years my countless cousins and I battled. And battle it was. Corey remembers being shoved to the ground by someone (cough cough Jessie! cough) on the way out the door, only to have her hands land squarely on top of the $50 egg.

Yeah, you read that right. A $50 egg.

You understand now why we take hunts very seriously!

And look who found it this year!

That’s my man! Bringing home the bacon!

Or, at least, the egg salad…

My mom spends an inordinate amount of time hiding eggs. It’s an art, really. Blending shell color with the varied pallet of the yard. You have to look up, down, reach in and under and sometimes throw an elbow or two…

Well, that part starts once the grown ups can join.

More important than the eggs or the food (or the money!) is, of course, the family. The smiles. The connection.

In his  Easter homily, the priest extolled the community, “Experience the risen Christ! Find Him in our world! He did not die as Lazarus did, to die again, but to live forever.”

This family, this community, these memories, are as close to forever as I can touch right now.

And it is so good.* Alleluia, Alleluia.

*Not pictured: simultaneous chocolate-induced melt downs, 6 million group shot outtakes, all the whining because SHE HAS A BLUE PEEP!, and the excellent lessons in greed and gluttony: “Mommy, look at ALL THE MONEY I GOT! It’s MY MONEY! and ALL THE CHOCOLATE! It’s MY CHOCOLATE!”