First a confession: I have apparently turned into my mother. I used to tease her about the chocolate Easter bunny who lived in our freezer, only to be resurrected each year for a one-day appearance in my basket.  Well, it seems I have outdone her, because I have THREE bunnies in my freezer.  Someone, come and eat them, please.  I’m afraid if I leave them together much longer they will multiply (you know how those bunnies can be).

And the sad thing is, Kiddo had no idea these bunnies were making a repeat performance.
 Bad Easter Bunny.

Saturday morning I woke up at 6:45 in a total panic.  Oh Crap! The Easter bunny forgot to stop by our house!  I woke my husband, flew to the bunny’s secret lair and snatched the loot, and was about to grab all the empty eggs for stuffing when my Hubby woke up enough to think. Someone had to.  “Uh, honey,” he said. “It’s Saturday. Easter is Sunday. Today’s our anniversary.”   

Oops. I knew there was something special about the day.   Not sure which is worse: forgetting Easter or forgetting it was my twelfth anniversary. Bad Mommy. Bad Wife.

I considered resigning as Easter Bunny. If only I could fire myself.

The REAL Easter morning went well, at least. That tricky bunny decided to make Kiddo hunt for some of his presents this year, and stuffed a few eggs with clues.  I was absolutely thrilled when he dug into his new Titanic books and legos and left the wii toy to sit alone by the television.

He’s my kid after all.

For the last…six years (geesh, time flies) we’ve spent Easter afternoon at our friends’ parents farm. They throw a big old fashioned  potluck and egg hunt, and we look forward to it each year.

Half a dozen folding tables hold mugs filled with dye, stickers, and crayons for drawing.  A few years ago, someone decided that garbage bags saved the kids from dying themselves, and they all get decked out in this trashy fashion statement. Outfits saved.

While the eggs dry, it’s time to feast.  The buffet fills the farmhouse’s wrap-around porch, and folks line up on both sides to load their plates with everything from home-grown beans to turkey and ham. 

 You have to clean your plate before you are allowed to hit the dessert buffet. Yes, dessert buffet. I crammed down two slices of cake (luckily there was no banana pudding this year or I would have popped). My friend totally stole my idea and made this adorable Peeps sunflower cake. (Okay, she had no idea I saw the pin on Pinterest and I was too lazy to make it myself.)

Then the kids are corralled  inside while most of the adults hide the eggs.  Hundreds of eggs: each child dyed a dozen, then there are huge storage bins filled with stuffed plastic eggs. We spread them over a couple of acres, in citrus trees, on tractor wheels, in plant pots, and tucked in Spanish moss gracefully drooping from oak trees.  Big kids go to one side of the house, little ones on the other. It’s still hard to believe my Kiddo is one of the bigger children now. He was just 2 1/2 the year of his first hunt.

 

Funny how other things can change in the blink of an eye.

On the way home, we passed by another group of Trayvon Martin supporters marching through downtown Sanford.  Back to life, back to reality.