Don’t let the cheerful faces fool you.
Let me back up.
I has three work trips, two unusually long, in four weeks. Many things fell by the wayside (hello blog), including Easter prep. Stuffing baskets is the easy part. At least I assume it’s easy. I didn’t lay eyes on ours until the same moment the boys did. Thanks Damon! What I mean by prep is filling the boys in on the giant rabbit who is going to come to our house in the night. Driving to school on Friday it occurred to me that Alden probably doesn’t remember last year. I opened the conversation with “Hey, guess who’s coming this weekend.” Turns out the poor kid not only doesn’t remember last year, he doesn’t remember ever hearing of this before.
My half of the conversation looked a lot like this:
— “Not a rabbit rabbit. A giant rabbit. With, like, pants on.”
— “He brings eggs because… he is friends… with a chicken. Also with Santa!”
— “No, no. Santa isn’t coming this weekend.”
I managed to confuse him so badly that at one point he said, very tentatively, “Is it my birthday?”
It was pretty much a gallop downhill after that.
What I don’t understand is how anyone manages the Easter basket candy at 7am. Do people give kids their baskets and then yank the candy out of their hands until a good breakfast has been had by all? We did not, and so in short order we had two kids in total sugar freefall. We didn’t let them eat much. But it was enough that they refused their breakfast. And so we crammed two buzzing, fussing little boys into their Sunday finest and carted them off to church. A new church my Mom wanted to visit. We were late. We had to search for the nursery. My allergies got the better of me and I had to leave for a while mid-service. I was that woman no one knows walking repeatedly up and down the aisle. When we picked the boys up after the service and Alden hugged me and said, “How was the wedding?” We do not normally look our Sunday Best on Sundays, I guess.
We got off on the wrong foot and could not get our mojo back all day.
Tantrum Eggs
That’s Elliot taking advantage of Alden’s basket-flinging fit.
And that’s Elliot hoping to make a picnic of pretzels he found in the church playground gravel.
He didn’t appreciate being thwarted either time.
Having a swingset all to ourselves helped, though.
My Mom also made us an excellent brunch for which I had to do not one thing. And I’ve gotten this posted before the end of April. I’m going to call it a draw.
jaysaint 