If you’ve read previous posts about important days in the year – Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, etc, you’ll know that our strategy in approaching these holidays is something along the lines of “oh cr&p, it’s [insert holiday]”. Often it’s “oh cr&p it’s [insert someone’s] birthday.
Now before I unintentionally paint myself as the world’s most insensitive mother, please know that this doesn’t relate to children’s birthdays, which are usually SWAT team-planned the day before. And generally follow the incredibly creative bake-a-cake-and-make-your-favorite-meal variety. Elaborate birthday parties, with the exception of this one aren’t my strength.
You can impute thusly that preparation for national holidays isn’t my strength to the power of infinity. Taking that one step further, it wouldn’t be so shocking to learn that I was duly unprepared for Easter this year.
But Easter hasn’t happened! [yells the reader before throwing her shoe at the screen]
Let’s all calm down for a minute…I’m getting to the punchline.
According to the Gregorian calendar it has yet to happen. But in our family, Easter will be spent in the coach section of United Airlines flight ABC123, hauling three kids and corresponding bag tonnage to a Caribbean island far far away. So, based on a technicality, Easter actually happened last Sunday. In the form of a neighborhood egg hunt planned by others, and open, mercifully, to all.
How could one be unprepared for an event that someone else is hosting? That’s where things get complicated. While I did buy the required 12 eggs per child and hand-delivered them to the host’s house with minutes to spare, the plastic eggs had to be assembled by the little hunters themselves.
I may have been in violation of child labor laws when I brought home 50 plastic shells and encouraged the kids to speed-stuff wrapped chocolate into the eggs. Fortunately I didn’t line up the kids and pace back and forth, slapping my crop against leather boot every time I saw one of the slip off the stuffing pace.
Rather, I was racing around the house scrounging for something other than a plastic shopping bag for the kids to use during the Easter egg hunt. Because for the Nth time in a row, I forgot to buy Easter baskets.
This failed Easter job didn’t come at a good time. I’ve always been sensitive about our status as outsiders in our little lakeside community. This is a place where most residents live permanently. We’re the science project family who lives in Manhattan and makes the trek to New Jersey each weekend for a dose of trees and nature. “Look kids, a real butterfly!”
So it didn’t help that my kids showed up to the Easter egg hunt late and wearing their favorite New York uniforms. Leather jacket for the male specimen, printed snakeskin for one of the females. A nice pastel basket might have shifted the focus, but as it were, Sam carried an all black number with Da Vinci Art Supply emblazoned on the front. Meanwhile, Lauren’s bright orange tote advertised Organic Avenue, the raw pressed juice bar, long favored by the New York genus.
But you know, nobody noticed. I think. Although maybe everyone was talking behind our backs – “there they are…back for the season I guess. Who buys leather for their kids? And taking all of the eggs I might add – Sherry saw the boy running off with that huge bag, just full of them.”
Which is kind of true. Since we’re using scientific terms, there may have been a convex egg meniscus in Sam’s bag.
What matters though…is that the kids had fun. Despite the melting snow and squishy grass, they raced through the fields searching for their loot.
After the hunt, Emma crept over to the Easter bunny and stole a hug. I was a little surprised that he hugged back; I’d judged him as being a wee bit passive aggressive. Maybe it was just me but I’m fairly certain that he was throwing me the stink eye all afternoon.
Which is probably why this conversation happened on the car ride back to the city…
ME: “Guys, look at the hawks in the sky! They’re gliding around – lots of them! They do that…they look for things to eat like little bunnies.”
Silence
ME: “I mean rats and mice.”
LAUREN: “Mom that wasn’t a good example for Easter.”
The subconscious is a mysterious thing. I wish that I could own the intention of that anecdote but truly it came from the depths my dark and stormy Id.
We’ll scratch this Easter effort from the record books. Like Valentine’s Day, and Mother’s Day, I love nothing more than an opportunity for redemption. So into the future we go, one step at a time. Happy Easter everyone.
Now, for the record, am I right?
