We spent the weekend in a hotel which is not always conducive to a traditional Easter egg hunt.

Despite the multitude of places to hide eggs; paisley carpet acts as perfect camouflage for foil wrappers, hotel bedspreads have seen much worse than chocolate stains, dark, heavy, curtains offer a great option for a trail of treats leading to some greater prize.

The problem is I don’t want to spend Easter Eve sweating, (any more so than I usually do in a hotel) worrying that I won’t wake up in time to hide treats. Nor can I handle the stress of one of the kids waking up and me having to act out a scene from a one woman show, in complete darkness, in an attempt to convince said child they are actually dreaming and not really catching Mommy in the act of tossing eggs from her fanny pack.

Thirdly, how can I find a proper hiding spot in a hotel room with five occupants, all of whom came with at least three pieces of luggage, snack bags, a cooler, crib, skipping ropes, colouring books, ponies, trampoline, a car full of clowns?

One year, I remember opening a bag of chocolate eggs and after a quiet three count, tossing them in the air after dive-bombing under the covers and hoping not to knock any sleeping baby’s teeth out. This was surprisingly effective but I think for the ages our children are today, they’re expecting a greater challenge.

Were they surprised when the Easter bunny didn’t remember they were staying at a hotel and brought them squatsville? Challenge tabled. Not after it was explained, the bunny must have visited our house and there would most definitely be a surprise when we returned home. Wink.

The plan on the drive home was sound. Greg would drop me at the door, I would disarm the alarm, tour the house looking for signs of a break and enter followed by a quick dispensing of Easter candy. The signal for him to return to the house after looping the block would be if his garage door was ajar.

The very idea that anyone was in our house, regardless of his mystical status had me perplexed.

I dashed into the house, disarmed, made my rounds with taser and mace and frantically searched for the bag of chocolate eggs, keeping my eyes open for squatters who may have moved in over the weekend.

I checked the “treat” cupboard but they weren’t there (the treats, not people). I checked the laundry room for no reason that made any sense at all. I guess I thought the kids would never look in the laundry room so that would have made a great hiding spot. In retrospect, it was really the best Easter ever because I was in the greatest egg hunt of my life, though, this time, my ability to find the eggs controlled the happiness of three, eager hunters honking enthusiastically as they looped the block and Daddy came up with excuse after ridiculous excuse as to why one of the girls would be better off wetting their pants than coming inside to pee.

Then I did the unthinkable. In an act of pure desperation, I raided the Tooth Fairy’s stash of treats. I was really left without an option and dug out three Littlest Pet Shop boxes and placed them on each of the girl’s beds. Happy Easter! This bites—and punny too?

Running down the hall to open the garage door and invite the kids in, I made one last effort to look for the eggs in the treat cupboard and I found them! They were behind an EMPTY container of Pringles. The cupboard had been tampered with. It was one of those crimes where I couldn’t pin point what had been touched because clearly EVERYTHING had been touched.

I ripped open the mesh bag dropping eggs everywhere. Who cares, isn’t that part of the fun? I made a quick soccer kick down the hall, the illusion of a bunny trail was in place. I popped open the garage and dashed back to the bedrooms. I saw no need to rip-off the Tooth Fairy by using her stash if it wasn’t totally necessary and just as I peeked my head out from her miniature closet, the kids were happily in the house.

“Mommy, why is that purple, chocolate egg bag hanging on the end of your taser?”