I love looking at old pictures of the twins and our daughter. It is hard to imagine the small bodies in the pictures are now all huge (well except my daughter, who stopped growing long before the twins). In the modern Easter world, our daughter is the shortest person in the room. Her Finance is the tallest, by quite a bit. She is the shortest, by almost as much as her finance is the tallest. I know, it’s silly, but it makes me smile. A picture by height would be my daughter, my wife, one twin, me, the other twin and then my daughter’s Finance. The gap between the tallest and the shortest person in our family now is 1.5 feet (or around ½ meter). But, that isn’t the pictures today.
This is of walking around my parents front yard chasing Easter Eggs. I will share a couple of other Easters; I shared a couple of last weeks. It was the first outdoor event each year for our family. Dad would break out the grill, and we would have brats, hotdogs or something outdoorish. My sisters, my wife, and my mother would hide the eggs. For years they hid in the grass until the mower conversation. After that, they were hidden in the trees. Dad used to put state quarters in some of the plastic eggs. I paid the kids for the state quarters and added them to our growing collection. I suspect my daughter and I collected many more of the state quarters than we needed.
We have a map on the wall, with 50 slots for the quarters I think we can fill that map several times over. My daughter even adopted her middle name for awhile calling herself quarter. I remember those old hunts. My wife would lead one twin around. I would either lead the other twin or take pictures. Compared to now, we took many fewer pictures then. It is hard to take a picture when you have to hold onto a twin. I wonder what our family festival looked like for my parent’s neighbors? We were not often in my parents front yard, but there were times. My parent’s backyard then drifted off into a field, there were only nights to the right, left and front of their house. Behind them was the farmer’s field.