Let's see, how did ours go?
Saturday I cursed the person who invented the entire concept of the Easter bunny. Then I cursed myself for deciding to ever take part in all that nonsense. Don't get me wrong; I am most certainly not one of those parents who seems to treat Easter like Second Christmas. Our kids got some prunes and some banana chips and some yogurt-covered raisins, and yes, even some candy. But I was just so irritated, stuffing their baskets Saturday night, mostly because it's nearly impossible to try and get a 4-year-old to focus on Jesus when there's candy in the running.
Then I did a mental face-slap and told myself to lighten up. Which helped, and made for a much happier Easter day for the rest of my family.
Easter morning there were special Easter outfits to don (Adelaide's outfit: Easter dress from last year, cardigan from three Easters past, shoes we already owned; Atticus's outfit: already owned khaki pants and shoes, $1 garage sale Ralph Lauren button down shirt; Caedmon's outfit: already owned khaki pants and shoes, hand-me-down shirt from Atticus; total Easter outfit cost: $1. BOOM BABY.), Easter candy to snarf when Mom's not looking, and pictures to take. Our children once again must have conspired to ensure that in no shot would all three of them be smiling. They were more or less successful.
Then we went to church, where I got to hold a gigantic 1-year-old as he cried himself to sleep while I was helping in the children's area. I also learned that it is very difficult to maintain any pride or modesty while sitting in a chair with said sleeping toddler (seriously, that kid was bigger than Caedmon, who's no delicate flower) sprawled over you while wearing a white sundress and four-inch wedges (me, not the boy- but that would have been kind of hilarious).
After that, we went to our friends' house for Easter dinner (remember Hannah*? It was her family). We all ate delicious food, Atticus was about as subtle as a Mack truck around Hannah, and the kids enjoyed an Easter egg hunt.
Caedmon managed to latch on to one of Hannah's younger sisters, Hallie*. Hallie's a couple years younger than Hannah, and took it upon herself to help take care of Cade while we were there. Caedmon, for his part, loved the attention and its associated perks.
For instance: Cade and Hallie were both seated at the children's table (you know what's awesome? Getting to the point where your kids are all old enough to sit at the children's table BY THEMSELVES), and she helped him with various food-related tasks, such as buttering his bread. I had noticed, by occasionally glancing at the kids' table, that she had given him three or four pieces of buttered bread, but I wasn't about to quibble when I was getting to eat all by myself. If bread and butter is what it takes to get me un-interrupted ham-eating time, then bread and butter he shall have. What Derek eventually pointed out was that Caedmon wasn't actually eating the bread, he was merely licking the butter off, handing the piece of bread back to Hallie, who would then slather another layer of butter on, and the whole process would repeat itself. Again, I would have put a stop to it, but I had ham and mashed potatoes in front of me. I will not apologize for my personal hierarchy of priorities.
A short time later, Caedmon asked Derek and I for dessert. He got a red-velvet cupcake, and a few minutes later we cleaned off his red velvet-laden face, hands, neck, chest, and shirt.
At that point he was expected to scamper off so that I could eat my own cupcake. Maybe halfway through that cupcake, however, Derek motioned to the kids' table, where lo and behold, Caedmon is again seated, now with a slab of four-layer cake in front of him. It didn't take long to deduce that Cade, in his two-year-old boy wisdom, had skipped the part where he asks his parents for more dessert (knowing what the answer would be), and gone straight to sweet, soft-hearted Hallie, who of course gave him some.
She then helped him hunt for Easter eggs, putting off her own search until his basket was full.
After all that, he wouldn't hug her good-bye. He did ask about her (twice) after we returned home, but I explained that he had had his chance to bid her a fond farewell, and had missed it. I also may have wandered down a confusing path that included a lecture on the dangers of playing hard to get and how girls that go for that kind of thing generally aren't worth getting. Fortunately for me, he was struggling to peel an orange and generally ignoring me and my drivel by the time I came to and remembered to whom I was speaking.
There you go. Our Easter in a nutshell.
*Names changed to protect the innocent.