Easter and Qingming — two springs that bloom together in our home.

“Mom, can I open the LEGO now?”

“This one’s for me, right?”

“When did the bunny come?”

He asked with that bright, unapologetic excitement only children have, hugging the box of LEGO he’d just received. His hands were already tugging at the edges of the packaging, as if he’d celebrated Easter ten times before—though in truth, this was the first one he’d remember.

He didn’t really understand Easter yet.

He knew it came with gifts, a bunny, and the scent of spring in the air. But behind the joy, I knew there was also a story about life, and hope, and beginnings—one he hadn’t heard yet.

I didn’t scold him for being impatient. I, too, was once that child who only cared about what was inside the box.

But now that I’m a mother, I wonder—can I tuck something gentler into these cheerful holiday moments? A little seed of spring, of waiting, of second chances?

We sat on the floor together. He was already sorting through colorful bricks, hands moving quickly.

I asked him, “Do you know what Easter means?”

He shook his head. I didn’t plan to go deep—just enough for a child’s heart to carry.

“Winter has passed, and spring is here. The earth wakes up again, trees grow new leaves, flowers bloom. Easter reminds us that no matter what we go through, there’s always a chance to begin again. There’s always hope.”

He didn’t answer. He was too focused on building the tail of a LEGO dinosaur. But I didn’t mind.

Some ideas, like LEGO pieces, aren’t built in a day. You lay one brick at a time, and slowly it takes shape.

And then, a memory rose up quietly:

When I was a child, spring was marked not by Easter, but by Qingming Festival.

It was another kind of spring—a quieter one.

No bunnies or chocolate eggs, but tomb sweeping, incense, whispered words for those we’d lost. My family would hike up to the mountains, offer tea, burn paper messages. It was a time to remember, to look back, and to gently say, “You are still with us.”

If Easter is a springtime holiday that looks forward—a celebration of rebirth and light—then Qingming is the spring that looks back, the one that honors memory.

One holiday reminds us where we come from.

Another helps us believe we can begin again.

And somewhere in my life as a mother between two cultures, those two springs meet.

I didn’t tell him all of this. He’s still too young, still caught up in the joy of dinosaur tails and secret bunny gifts.

But in my heart, I know—I can give him both. I can gently weave these stories, these emotions, these truths into the fabric of our everyday.

That night before bed, he hugged his freshly built LEGO dinosaur and asked,

“Mom, does the bunny really know what I like?”

I stroked his hair and said,

“Maybe it knows. Or maybe Mommy told it, just a little.”

He giggled and snuggled into the covers.

And I watched him—his small face peaceful, his breath steady like the soft wind through trees just beginning to bloom.

He may not yet understand what these holidays mean.

Not fully.

But one day—maybe when he’s a dad, or just a grown-up feeling lost in a long winter—he might remember a spring from long ago, when his mother once said:

“It’s okay. You can always begin again.”

一个节日让我们记得从哪里来，一个节日让我们相信可以重新开始。

“媽媽，我可以現在就打開樂高嗎？”

“這盒是我的對不對？”

“兔子什麼時候來的？”

他問得又快又直白，一邊抱著剛剛收到的新樂高盒子，一邊迫不及待地想拆開。我看著他專注的樣子，忍不住笑了。那種毫不掩飾的渴望和喜悅，是這個年紀的特權。

他還不太懂復活節。他知道這一天有禮物、有兔子、有春天的氣味，但不知道這一切，除了歡樂，其實也藏著關於生命與希望的故事。

我沒有責怪他急著要拆禮物。畢竟，我也曾經只是那個只在乎「盒子裡是什麼」的小孩。只是當我成為母親，我開始想，也許我能在這些快樂的節日時刻裡，悄悄藏進一些柔軟的東西，一點點關於“春天”、“重生”和“等待的價值”。

我們坐在地板上，他興奮地翻出一塊塊零件。我陪他邊拼邊說：“你知道復活節是什麼意思嗎？”

他搖搖頭。我也沒打算講太多，只是簡單地說：“冬天過去了，春天來了。大地重新發芽、萬物開始甦醒。復活節是告訴我們，無論經歷過什麼，都還有新的開始，還有希望。”

他沒有回答，低頭繼續拼著恐龍的尾巴。我知道他還太小，不會馬上懂。但就像樂高一樣，有些概念不是一次就能組裝完成的，要一塊一塊，慢慢拼上去。

就在那一刻，我忽然想起我小時候的春天，是從清明節開始的。

那是另一種春天的樣子。不是兔子和彩蛋，而是掃墓、燒紙、在風裡輕聲說著想念的話。我們去山上拜祖先，點香、倒茶，讓離開的人也感受到這個世界仍記得他們的名字。

如果說復活節是往前的節日，是一場關於重生與希望的慶典，那清明節就是一扇通往記憶的門，是一種溫柔的回頭望。

一個節日讓我們記得從哪裡來，一個節日讓我們相信可以重新開始。這兩種春天，在我成為母親的日子裡，悄悄在心裡交會。

我沒有把這些都告訴他。他現在還在歡天喜地地拼著每一個零件，只在意恐龍的尾巴會不會動。但我知道，我可以用自己的方式，把這些文化、情感和記憶，一點一滴地留給他，藏在他成長的每一個角落裡。

晚上睡覺前，他抱著那隻剛拼好的恐龍，問我：“媽媽，兔子真的知道我喜歡這個嗎？”

我笑著說：“也許兔子知道，也許是媽媽偷偷告訴牠的。”

他咯咯笑了，然後安心地睡去。呼吸像窗外剛發芽的樹一樣平穩柔軟。

我看著他的小臉，心裡有一種靜靜的感動。我知道，他現在記得的是樂高，是禮物，是春天的陽光。但或許有一天，在他成為別人爸爸，或一個孤單的大人時，也會突然想起，春天的某個節日，媽媽曾經這樣說過——

沒關係，一切都可以重新開始。

#HonoringTradition #SpringParentingMoments