Easter Bunny hunt

This morning I devised an Easter chocolate hunt for the Boy Wonder, with each clue leading to a tiny Lindt bunny, and every prize but the last one also providing the next clue in the trail. He loved it. I tried to be just close enough to capture a few photos, but otherwise left him playing the game with R (who had a crib sheet on his phone, just in case any of my clues turned out to be too obscure) - but I swear, I could have tracked the pair of them in and out of the house, round the garden and out into the village, just from the sound of constant involuntary giggling that issued from the Boy throughout the twenty minutes it took them to find all the bunnies.

By the time the rest of the Family B arrived for lunch, the story of the morning had somehow been rewritten. "I did have fun," the Boy told his mother, "but Grandma made the clues too easy. It would have been better if they'd been harder." I lifted an eyebrow, but forbore to point out that in fact he wouldn't have fulfilled the quest on his own: R had to provide extra little hints to a couple of the locations, to prevent B from getting frustrated and giving up. My late mother-in-law was fond of saying, "A mother's place is in the wrong," and it would seem that this stricture also encompasses grandmothers.