I’m a decade late with getting our Easter pictures slapped onto the blog, but I blame a hockey net that got cut off with a pair of scissors yesterday and a tube of toothpaste that is no longer with us.
God bless the Clorox Wipes industry, which saw us through the Crest cleanup last night.
Our Easter turned out to be busy and lovely and fun. On Thursday evening, the boy somehow talked me into calling the school the following morning, to excuse him from his classes. Although I am usually the mom who refuses to allow days off from school for any reason except fevers and puking, I caved. Why our district decided to host a half-day of school on Good Friday is beyond me. I felt as offended over it as the boy did, so I called the high school office and, in my most serious mom voice, announced that the boy would not be in school.
And then the boy went out and golfed eighteen holes on Friday morning, while his friends were sitting behind a desk, enjoying twenty-seven-minute class periods that had been converted into study halls all day. Let’s face it: No teacher really wanted to TEACH on Good Friday, any more than the students actually wanted to be there. The boy came home with sun-kissed cheeks and a grin, as he said, “Well, apparently Jesus approves of golfing on Good Friday, instead of going to school, because I had my best score EVER today.”
Which is, you know, how it always goes when you’re golfing for fun and not under the pressure of a tournament score that may or may not get you a college scholarship.
On Saturday, Sister and I had coffee with Carrie, who had driven to Small Town, USA, all the way from Major Thriving Metropolis, for Easter. She brought her boys and her husband, Keith. (Keith is Sister’s husband’s brother. Did you follow that? Sister’s husband and Keith grew up next door to us. They were nerdy little boys who threw snowballs at us. My sister and I complained about them throughout our teenage years, until Sister turned traitor and MARRIED ONE OF THEM. Thankfully, both Keith and Sister’s husband have been reformed and are upright citizens of their communities now, thanks to wives who cared.)
Carrie, Sister and I ordered chai teas and sat on the porch of a coffee shop in the city, where we talked for (Ahem!) nearly three entire hours. Hubs wanted to know later how on earth girls can keep a conversation going for that long. I told him, “I have no idea how men can FAIL to keep talking that long.”
We discussed everything on Saturday morning, from our kids’ sports and school events, to Carrie’s recent trip to Paris. We admired her Lacoste purse, which she actually bought on her trip, AFTER she had admired a different handbag for $3,500. We had a good laugh at what it would be like to carry around a purse worth three and a half thousand dollars, because THAT would be the purse my child spilled his Gatorade on, dumped his Skittles into, and threw up in. We also laughed as she described trying on a pair of shoes that cost $1,000, especially when she told us, “And they weren’t even uncomfortable! You would have paid an enormous chunk of change to have your feet LOOK GOOD, as those shoes pinched you in all the wrong places while you walked in them.”
We all wiggled our toes in our sneakers, and toasted one another with our chai tea mugs.
Three cheers for $90 Nikes.
On Saturday evening, Hubs and I hauled our boys out to Sister’s house, where we all enjoyed gourmet pork tacos. I’m telling you… I had never had a taco with shredded pork and giant chunks of fresh tomatoes AND fresh pineapple on it before, but I now know I was barely living until Saturday night. I will forever be adding pineapple to my tacos from now on. I have come to realize it’s exactly how Jesus eats His tacos.
The menfolk (bless them) made everyone lemon drop martinis. We sat around, sipping them from juice glasses, while we pretended to be incredibly fancy people.
And then we dyed eggs with the kids.
Or rather, Carrie and I dyed eggs with the kids, while sister rolled up her sleeves and started homemade dinner rolls, so that they’d be all risen and gloriously perfect for Easter dinner the following day. I was impressed that Sister was using REAL YEAST, and that she wasn’t killing it. I, myself, have never had a relationship with a packet of yeast where the yeast survived.
Yeast and I are like a junior high dating relationship. We don’t last long together, before one of us ends up hurt.
In other words, the homemade bread that I always make is perfect for Passover, as it’s always accidentally unleavened.
Now, what you need to know about Carrie and myself is simply this: We are both a little OCD. And we both prefer that dye remain in the glass jars and not on the table or kids, so you can imagine how our personalities were stretched and grown on Saturday night, when Thing 2 took his spot in the egg-dying festivities. Let’s just say that Thing 2 created some serious brain trauma for nine-year-old Oliver, who gasped, “He has mixed the colors! The yellow dye is BROWN NOW!!”
And so it was, which is how we came to have eggs that resembled little turds, rather than gloriously-dyed Easter eggs, in pastel yellow.
This was the excited crew, long before anyone knew that the glass of yellow dye had a lifespan that was going to last three minutes.
Is it any wonder that this child is on my list of BOYS I HAVE A CRUSH ON? I’m kind of in love with Kellan… in an adopted-aunt, not-at-all-weird sort of way!
After Carrie and I had wiped the table, wiped the table and wiped the table again, and said approximately forty-six times, “Careful! Dye on your shirt will be there until the Apocalypse,” we called it a night.
We had successfully colored three dozen hard-boiled eggs.
The only real casualty of all that colored dye was…
… you guessed it…
… Thing 2’s pale yellow T-shirt, which has now been reduced to SHIRTS I WEAR CAMPING IN THE MOUNTAINS AND TO PLAY IN THE DIRT WITH status.
Here’s the whole Easter crew:
I think Thing 2 and Kellan pretty much pinned Keith down, for the match win.
With any luck at all, I will get THOSE pictures pasted onto the blog before the next decade comes and goes.
Y’all have a lovely weekend.