Previous to our participation in the Bowery Babes Easter Egg Hunt, the closest I ever came to Easter was begging my mom for chocolate bunnies at the drugstore as a kid. The bunnies were always hollow, which never ceased to surprise and disappoint. Or stop me from begging again the following year.

We are Jewish, in case you are not already aware, and although we have pictures of Mazzy destroying a piece of matzah, grimacing at charoset and crying with boredom during the sedar, showcasing our Easter pictures seemed a lot more fun. Or at least more colorful. Passover is always very very biege.

Why else was this day different from all other days?

Usually, I’m the one with the camera. Which means we’ve got lots of shots of Mazzy. A few of my husband. And NONE of me. On rare occasions, Mike strips me of my photo-taking duties and takes it on himself. He says the reason he doesn’t do it more often is because I ask to see each picture after it’s taken and then I make “a face”.

But since it was Easter and we were on our first official egg hunt (that didn’t involve finding a brunch place at noon on a Sunday in downtown Manhattan without a forty minute wait), I let Mike document while I fully participated in the festivities with my baby girl.

I even kept my “faces” to myself.

Mike’s Photo Documentary: “Egg Hunt In The City” starring Mazzy, myself and her good friends, Ella and Carson:


“Bunnies? Candy? Let’s DO THIS THING!”


“WAIT. So you expect me to dive into that dirty swamp to retrieve a couple of fake plastic eggs? This was not my understanding of the event.”


“Alright, if this is all really going to go down, I’m gonna need something to put these things in. What do you mean you don’t have a basket? MOM!!!! Sometimes you are so JEWISH.”


“Mazzy! Would you like to put your eggs in my basket?”


“Nope. I’ve got this thing figured out.”


“Quiet! Nobody move! My super egg-sensing powers tell me there is a red one to my right.”


“Hmmm. These eggs don’t look biodegradable. Please make sure you throw them in the appropriate trash bin.”


“MOM! Don’t just stand there! There’s an egg underneath that dirty newspaper! And one inside that unconscious guy’s shoe…”


“This is so much better than looking for a big tasteless cracker wrapped in a napkin.”


“I’ve looked everywhere besides up your nose. You mind checking it out for me?”


“Mother. You mean to tell meβ€” you had me picking through NYC garbage for eggs, when all the while there was a perfectly lovely spread offering snacks? The lengths you grown-ups go to for photo-taking opportunities…”

And just to show-off more of my husband’s camera skills, below is Ella looking cute as ever. (I’ve given her a bum rap but we are on better terms now.)


And here is Mazzy showing off the drool that killed my iPhone.


Whaddaya think? How’d the husband do?