Picture it: Easter Eve, 2026. The local boys’ lacrosse team runs an “egg” your yard fundraiser, and I splurged on the 42 “egg” package. Night falls. I peer out the window to find pre-teens with haircuts like llamas tip-toeing around my yard. They giggle and chuck plastic eggs into the bushes, then scatter more in the grass for my kids to find in the morning. I find my sense of delight and silliness renewed.