Tie on your Easter bonnet, we’re headed down a bumpy road
of Easter joy. Easter has always been laden with meaning for me.
None of it related to anyone hanging on a cross, however.
More like spring and new discoveries.
My earliest memory of Easter will tell you
pretty much all you need to know about my mom and me.
The Easter I was two or three, there was still snow on the ground.
The Saturday morning before Easter,
my mom began her campaign to convince me
that the Easter Bunny needed MY blanket to stay warm
and fulfill his duties as The Candyman.
OOOOH, just look at him. How could I not protect him?
I surrendered my safety net to the Easter Bunny.
It looked a lot like this.
Only much more filthy and full of holes.
I mean, I’m sure it looked like this at one time.
The trauma of not having my blanket anymore after that
obliterates any other Easter memories for awhile.
I personally looked like this right around that time.
We must have been poor,
it appears we’re just imagining our Easter baskets.
That really is my brother and me.
A few years later, on another Easter, blanket-free.
I think I’d taken up smoking by this time to compensate.
Right around this time, my mom foolishly
got us baby chicks as an Easter surprise.
I do have a photo of them somewhere.
My mom didn’t really look quite this much like Eleanor Roosevelt.
And she didn’t wear an apron like this,
she wore the kind that tied around your waist.
And hers had a flask in one pocket.
One year, I got one of these eggs made of sugar
with the little world inside.
I’d never seen anything like it,
and to this day I still think these are just magic.
I stared at it for weeks, until my brother broke off a piece of it and ate it.
In about ten minutes the whole thing was gone.
Skip waaaaaaay ahead.
These are two of my own daughter’s Easter dresses.
I loved buying her Easter dresses, hats, shoes–LOVED.
Part of the joy was that she had no say
and would just wear them happily.
She looked so adorable.
I’m so glad I saved these dresses.
Because that’s how the Bunny was busted at our house
when my daughter was maybe ten.
That Easter morning I awoke with that feeling
that someone was staring at me.
Someone was. My daughter, with a twin bunny in each hand.
Glaring staring at me.
“So…what’s the deal? You’re the Easter Bunny, and dad’s Santa?
That how it works?”
She really talked like that as a child.
Before I’d had any coffee, or even gotten out of bed,
she explained to me that
if the Easter Bunny WAS real,
he’d never do something as stupid
as give her the same bunny two years in a row.
Someone like me, however, easily would.
For about an hour or so, she let me know the breadth of this fail.
Nothing I offered was an acceptable response.
Finally, angling once again for that elusive Mother of the Year award,
I said, “OK. So did you seriously think
a rabbit dragged all that stuff in here?”
I remember her blinking a couple times, and then she was quiet.
She still looked adorable in her Easter dress,
but the jelly beans weren’t as sweet that year for anyone.
The next year, in an Easter basket, my own Mother of the Year
returned the blanket to me that she’d conned me into giving up
all those years ago.
I’m not kidding.
She thought it was funny. It was, sort of.
Now I can’t find it. She kept it for all that time, and now I can’t find it.
Turns out it was better off with the Easter Bunny.
As an empty nester now, all I have left for Easter entertainment
is to put a Peep in the microwave and watch it blow up.
Have you ever done that? It’s kind of awesome.
So. Before you judge me for not having that blanket, here’s this.
Yep, it’s that dress I had on in that photo above of my brother and me.
Easter. New beginnings. Hope yours are all you want them to be.