Easter 2018

We have just survived our seventeenth winter this year, which is also referred to as the Seventh Circle of Hell.  While other folks are posting pictures of their tulips poking up through the ground on Instagram and Texas is already wearing shorts and sleeveless shirts and complaining about how hot it was at soccer practice, we are still knee-deep in snow.  Our spirits can’t even deal with all this winter.  But, in the true name of finding the good in everything, we assure ourselves that we will have green lawns this summer!  Oh, but our lawns shall be gloriously green, and we shall export water to drought counties.  In the meantime, we try not to covet everyone from Louisiana, who is posting pictures of LOOK!  NO COAT OUTSIDE! on social media, as we exclaim, LOOK!  WE HAD KINDERGARTEN SOCCER PRACTICE IN A STINKING RACQUETBALL COURT THIS WEEK, BECAUSE SNOW, SNOW, SNOW AND ALL THE GYMS WERE FULL.

Yes.  You read that right.  Thing 2’s soccer team had practice in a racquetball court.  It was exactly as laid back and unchaotic as you can imagine, unless you’re actually imagining nine boys and one girl and one coach and eleven soccer balls inside a glass cube the size of a queen-size bed.

Anyway.

We celebrated Easter last week, and I’m just now getting around to blogging about it, because last week was full and crazy enough that we had McDonald’s for dinner.

Twice.  Don’t judge.

But look at me tonight, because I cooked a roast and potatoes and carrots and onions and LO!  Even gravy!  I pulled all of this out of the oven, and it smelled like the buffet lines in Heaven will smell one day.  I diced up little bites of roast and smashed potatoes and drizzled them with gravy, all for Thing 2.  He walked into the kitchen, looked at his plate and announced, “Why can’t you just feed me cold cereal for dinner?  Why do I have to eat junk like this?”  I believe what he was TRYING to say was, “Bless you, gracious Mother, for preparing this rich meal for us, when what you really wanted to do today was lay on the sofa and play Candy Crush in silence.”

But Easter.

Sister and I combined our kids the day before Easter, so that they could dye eggs together.  Sister volunteered her dining room for this project, and I screeched out YES before she could change her mind.  It’s because we have a RUG beneath OUR dining room table, and Sister simply has tile… and Thing 2 was going to be a hands-on egg-colorer that evening.

Some of us ended up coloring eggs half naked, because dye is unforgiving and also forever.  In the end, Thing 2’s hands looked like he had fought a rainbow and lost, but his shirt was still clean.  We called that an Easter Win, even though his hands were green and purple and red and blue until Wednesday.

On Easter Sunday, we intended to wake up and celebrate, because THE TOMB IS EMPTY!  HE IS RISEN!  My plan to do just this was going fine, over a cup of coffee with Hubs, until Thing 2 marched out of his bedroom at 6:30, after having gotten up on the entirely wrong side of his bed.  We quickly found out that when you get up on the wrong side of your bed, and your parents ask you to take a shower (Lord, say it isn’t so!), you can end up bawling your eyes straight out so hard, while you stomp your feet, that your own mother takes away your Easter basket before you have even looked inside.

Yes. 

Before you have even looked inside of it.

(In case you were wondering if life is always just SO MUCH FUN with Godly parenting at our house!)

We went to church, where Thing 2 fielded questions from his six-year-old cousin about WHAT WAS IN YOUR EASTER BASKET? by replying, “I don’t want to talk about Easter baskets right now.”

Thankfully, the man cub’s sour mood was fully turned around to a proper mood for celebrating Easter in when church was over, so he DID earn his Easter basket back.

It was full of the usual basket fare of bubbles and sidewalk chalk and jelly beans and Matchbox cars.

I didn’t get a picture of the boy with his basket, because the boy slept in on Easter Sunday and then had to race against the clock to make it to church.  BUT… once he got around to grabbing his basket, he hugged me and said, “Mom, I love this basket.  You know exactly what makes me happy.”

I do.  After seventeen years of having that child, I’ve learned that you can never go wrong with Subway gift cards for sandwiches, expensive chocolate truffles and Cadbury eggs.  He is no longer impressed with bubbles and Matchbox cars, which makes my heart go all squeezy, as I try to breathe, because COLLEGE IS SO CLOSE.

After church, we all met at Sister’s house for Easter dinner, with Mam and Pa.  We had it on good authority that there was going to be a visit by the Holiday Rabbit, who was going to hide Easter eggs outside, so Thing 2 was ALL JAZZED, with a Level Ninety-Four on Enthusiasm.  But that was BEFORE we woke up on Easter morning to another twenty-seven feet of powdery snow.  (Lord, thank you for our summer moisture.  Teach us to be thankful today for green lawns at the end of August.)  The Easter Bunny took one look at all the knee-deep snow in the backyard, shook his head, poured himself a nice glass of wine and declared, “The eggs will be hidden INDOORS.”

Which is why three of our children attacked Sister’s family room with squeals of delight after they had eaten ham and mashed potatoes.

A family room egg hunt lasts for approximately thirteen seconds, and then it’s over.

Plastic eggs were dumped, black jelly beans were traded for red jelly beans, and they all settled down to build with their Easter Legos, which Mam and Pa had passed out.  Easter Legos pretty much WON Easter!

I kind of dropped the ball on Easter snapshots this year, because WHERE IS THE BOY?  I’ll tell you where he was:  HIDING FROM MY CAMERA BECAUSE HE’S SEVENTEEN.  But, I did force our two boys to sit down in front of our fireplace for some iPhone pictures really quick, before church.

Obviously, their ideas of PLEASE DRESS NICELY FOR EASTER SUNDAY CHURCH are entirely different.  The boy took one look at Thing 2 and said, “You don’t look very dressed up.”  Thing 2 looked down at his own outfit, and then hollered, “I AM dressed up, Bubbie!  I’m wearing JEANS!”  And that about sums up their personalities.  One of them always dresses like he’s about to step onto a yacht for caviar and fine cigars, while the other one always dresses like he just crawled out of a dumpster and is heading to the gym for his daily workout.

Thankfully, their mother loves them both.

And thankfully, Jesus loves us all… even when we wake up on the wrong side of the bed and don’t get our Easter bubbles and sidewalk chalk until after church.

 

 

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