Lazy Easter Bunny

Last year, Mark and I spent an awesome Easter in mecca for chocolate bunnies--Hershey, Pennsylvania! This year, we played it a little more low-key, and went to the family homestead in San Diego.

It was a quick trip, but we packed in lots of fun. Well, most of it was fun. The five stores I spent three hours in searching for Mark's new shoes were not so fun. (Seriously...the girls picked out more clothes AND shoes than my little fashionista managed.)

On Sunday morning, the kids woke up early and started digging in to their Easter baskets. They got enough sugar to choke a horse, or send a diabetic kid into insulin shock. (Luckily, that didn't really happen.)

Mark was excited to open his basket. I was excited, because he got an ENORMOUS plastic Easter egg that took up most of the room in his basket.

 "What was in the egg?" I asked.

"Nothing!" Grant screamed. "It was empty!"

And...dang it! The egg had come with a label showing candy and toys nested inside a couple other eggs. Apparently, the Easter Bunny didn't bother to verify that was the case.

"It's okay," Mark told me. "I just put all my candy in there. It's locked up like a safe!"

"Wow," I said. "The Easter Bunny should fire his elves. Slackers."

"The Easter Bunny doesn't have elves," Grant told me. "That's Santa."

"Well, maybe he should get some then, huh?" I winked at Grant and walked away.

After a big breakfast, we dressed in our Sunday best and made our bi-annual trip to church. (It makes my mom happy.) The cool thing about Easter is we usually score seats in the main church instead of the bingo hall, where we spend our Christmas Eves. I think it's because all during our childhood, Mass started at 10:30, so we're conditioned to leave the house by 10:20. But the joke's on us--nowadays, Mass starts at 11. 

The flowers all over the church were gorgeous. SO were all the cute little girls in their giant Easter dresses, and all the sweet little boys with their hair slicked down. The priest gave an okay speech--you can tell he's a faithful man, but he's not the most inspiring. And it didn't help that he delivered his sermon in a thick Indian accent. That would have been fine, if Nathalie hadn't leaned over to me halfway through the service and whispered, "Richard Parker," in an equally thick accent. (I hated the movie Life of Pi, but the whole "Richard Parker" thing stuck.) I about lost it, and we spent the rest of the service talking about Richard Parker.

It was back home for another big meal. My mom went a little crazy, but the meal was fantastic--turkey, ham, asparagus, potatoes, pineapple, you name it, we ate it. Then we topped it all off with a cake Mary and Gabi made that was topped with candy. Seriously, I could feel my blood sugar rising just walking through the house! 

We spent a little more time just visiting with the family and enjoying the holiday. It was so fun and happy that we hated to end the good times, but we still had a two-hour drive ahead of us.

But I made Mark gather up all the giant eggs before we left.

"Just in case," I told him. "Maybe the Easter Bunny will actually fill them up next year." 

Here's hoping...

I want it all, Mommy!

<--Huh, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there really IS a Passover Bunny! 

Somewhere, in a past life, Mark must have been a prince. Not a king, mind you, who ruled his people with wisdom and a strong but fair hand...no, just a prince, who lived in the lap of luxury and thrived, as servants brought him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

That's the only explanation I have for him. He's never happy with what he gets, be it candy, TV time, or video games, because he knows somewhere out there, some other kid still has more.

Take Easter, for example. We'll be on vacation this year, so I explained sadly that Mark won't get an Easter basket (I don't think he even believes in the bunny anymore, but he isn't going to turn away a basket full of candy!).

"But don't worry," I told him, playing up the good news. "Because you'll get more than enough chocolate--we'll be in Hershey, Pennsylvania, on Easter!"

Now, any normal kid would whoop and holler with joy at that sentence. Any kid other than Mark, that is.

"What!" he complained. "Rip off!"

"What do you mean, rip-off?" I said, indignantly. "You'll be in the town that chocolate BUILT! Even the street lights are Hershey Kisses!"

Mark was quiet for a moment. I thought he was contemplating this, but I was wrong. He was trying to work his way around it.

"I can just leave a basket here," he said. "The Easter Bunny can fill it up, and I can eat it when I get home."

"Your cats would eat it all," I answered.

"Yeah," he admitted. Then he lit up and said, "Oooooh, how about if I put my basket on the front porch?"

"Then ANTS will get it," I said. "And the candy will melt. Did you miss the part where I said you'll be in Chocolate Town that day??"

"We can bring the baskets with us," he said, hopefully.

"No, Kelley and Rob are Jewish," I said. "They don't have an EASTER Bunny! Plus, it's Passover, so the bunny couldn't bring the good stuff, anyway. It's not kosher."

And before he could ask, I assured him there was no Passover Bunny.

"What if--" he started, but I cut him off. I'd had enough.

"No," I said. "Whatever you are about to say--just, NO. You will be in Hershey, you will not bring a basket, you will eat chocolate, you will be happy about it. End of story." And then I stomped out of the room.

"Geez," I heard Mark mutter in the other room.

I could tell he was already re-writing the whole story in his head, assigning himself the leading role as the Poor Victim Child, and me the role of the Wicked Mother. Someday, I will listen to Mark whine about the year I deprived him an Easter basket, and what an incredibly mean mom I was. He's a good storyteller, and people will actually feel sorry for poor Mark when they hear it.

Until...I whip out a photo of 12-year-old Mark, face smeared with chocolate, standing in front of a sign that says "Welcome to Hershey, PA!" 

I may even have a second picture of Mark the day after, with a chocolate hangover, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, one hand over his upset belly, the other pushing away the huge chocolate bar I'm offering him.

I will say, "Take THAT, my poor, deprived son! THIS was the year with no Easter basket!"

And the Easter spirit will live on.

Candypalooza

Easter is the second favorite holiday for the children in our family, right after Christmas. I'd like to say it's because they are rejoicing in our Lord's resurrection, but really, it's all about the candy. Easter is just one big cavity of happiness to them.

We started off the celebration Saturday afternoon, by dyeing our Easter eggs.

I think the kids got more dye on their hands than on the eggs...



My younger nephews, Grant, 6, and Johnny, 4, were more about speed than accuracy. Before Mark finished dyeing his first egg, Johnny had already colored five.

"I'm done!" he announced, as he plunked a dripping egg into the carton. "Now can we have candy?"

The older kids reminded him that the Easter Bunny hadn't even come by yet, so there was no candy. He did not like that answer.

"Then can I color more eggs?" he asked. The kids around him immediately moved their eggs before Johnny swiped them.

My mom spent the afternoon cooking, and we enjoyed a fantastic holiday meal. It was the wrong holiday (we had turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes), but it was tasty none the less.

As bedtime neared, the excitement level ratcheted up. The bigger kids wanted to hide and see the Easter Bunny, and Johnny just wanted to talk. He could care less about the Easter Bunny, he just didn't want to go to sleep.

When I checked on them an hour later, the kids were still awake and giggly. Mark feigned sleep until my niece Gabi exclaimed, "Mark lost his tooth!" And sure enough, when I grabbed his blood sugar test kit, a tiny tooth rolled out instead of his meter.

Mark jumped up to show me the bloody gap. I sent him off to rinse it out, and he peeked at the Easter baskets in the adjoining room.

"Did the Easter Bunny come yet?" he asked.

"Go to bed!" I reprimanded. "It's 10:30! He's never gonna come if you guys don't go to sleep."

And so, finally, late in the night, they slept. Soundly. Until...

...I heard giggles at 6 o'clock the next morning. I heard the little boys cheering and ripping in to their baskets. They were wide awake, and there was no way they'd go back to sleep, especially after consuming half their candy.

I met my sister-in-law Mary in the hallway. She confiscated their baskets and sent them back to their room.

Finally, to the relief of the little boys, the rest of the family woke up. The kids were very excited about their Easter baskets...



...and even more excited about the contents.



We ate breakfast, and sent the children off to dress in their Sunday best. Once they were dressed, I herded them outdoors for the disaster I like to call the family portrait.

Here was the first picture I took:



I then took 72 similar pictures, none of which met the minimum requirements of all kids smiling, all kids facing the right way, and no kids squinting. Johnny was determined to sabotage every picture.






Johnny lost interest in being in any picture, until I started photographing Mary and her kids. Then he wanted to be in the picture.

Unfortunately, he couldn't keep his hands off the feathers in Gabi's hair, so he got booted from the photo shoot.




I found more willing (and less hyper) models in my parents. They didn't squint or give me cheesy smiles--they looked great!



I was riding high after such cooperative models. I felt so confident, I tried shooting portraits of the children again. You can see how well that worked.






By the end, the children were so sick of photos, they actually begged to go to church. We obliged them.

When we returned, Mary and I readied the yard for the annual Easter egg hunt. I tossed my eggs all over the yard, but found Mary being much more creative. She even sent a raft of eggs floating into the pool.




The kids found all the eggs and were eating themselves into their next dental appointment when we sat down to lunch. My mom and brother Scott outdid themselves cooking again. It was an awesome lunch!

I know the candy was the highlight for the kids, but I most enjoyed the company. I spent all my childhood Easters hunting eggs in the backyard, and sharing big celebratory meals with my family. And now, as an adult, I'm grateful to pass that same opportunity on to my son.

Right now, it may just be about the candy. But someday, I hope Mark will treasure these times with our family, and the holiday memories, even more than he does all that chocolate.

Celebrating a giant candy-bearing bunny

Easter found us in San Diego, celebrating with our family. We spent a gorgeous day at the beach, and a really nice evening celebrating with a fabulous dinner my mom made. She even set the table really cute:



I also spent the weekend explaining the Easter Bunny. My five-year-old nephew Grant kept asking how the bunny gets in the house, and what he should do if he saw the Easter Bunny at night ("Say hello!" I answered). He also fretted about whether we should leave the Easter bunny carrots or lettuce, and finally settled on both.

Mark and my niece Gabi didn't care about the details; they just wanted reassurance that the Bunny was bringing them candy. They could care care less how or when he came into the house.

My niece Nathalie is in middle school, and wasn't much interested either. But when I remarked how funny the whole Easter Bunny story is, she looked at me questioningly.

"Think about it," I said. "Most kids would freak out if a giant animal entered their home. But tell them it's bringing candy, and they're like, 'Hey, COOL!'"

She nodded, and I asked if kids would feel the same if the animal wasn't cute and funny. "What if it was a donkey instead of a bunny?" I asked her. "Would everyone still be as excited?"

"A donkey!" she cried. But apparently she was still thinking about it half an hour later, because she said, "A donkey," again and started giggling.

After dinner, the kids colored Easter eggs. They got really into it.

The older kids dyed their eggs dark, rich colors, but Grant powered through, dyeing three eggs in about three minutes. But then he spent the next hour worrying about the dye all over the back of his hands.

"Am I gonna look like this forever?" he asked. "Is this ever gonna come off?"

I assured him it would, and after a few good scrubbings, it was almost gone.

The kids were thrilled to find their baskets on Easter Sunday morning, and immediately dug into the sugar. We enjoyed a nice brunch, and then headed to church. The kids looked so great in their Sunday best:

Scott and Mary looked nice, too. Here's a picture that pretty much sums up their relationship. ;-)

My dad wasn't feeling well, but he felt well enough to give me this nice shot.

Because we'd spent Christmas Mass in the bingo hall, we left extra early, hoping to secure seats in the actual church this time. Turns out we had no worries -- we arrived as the 9 o'clock service was letting out. We let the kids run off those jelly beans outside, and went into the church. I was shocked at how few people there were; they took their time getting to services. It felt like we'd been sitting there a long time, and when I asked Mark what time it was, his answer shocked me.

"10:58," he said.

"You mean 10:28," I corrected. He said, no, it was almost 11. And I realized that for the first time in 40 years, Sunday Mass was starting at 11, not 10:30. We weren't just a little early -- we were an HOUR early! I guess that was God's way of getting us to spend a little more time in church this year.

We topped off the Easter celebrations with a traditional egg hunt. We hadn't really planned to have an egg hunt this year, until the kids informed us they were expecting one. So Mary and I filled plastic eggs with coins and jelly beans (separately -- not in the same eggs!) and Mary hid them around the yard.

The kids took off like a shot to find them.

It was a wonderful, mellow Easter, and though the candy was good, the best part was just being together, and celebrating with our family.

Hippity hoppity, Easter's on its way

Yesterday we celebrated Easter in the traditional Dinsdale manner -- with much cooking, a little competition, and a lot of laughter.

Scott and Mary hosted us because their house can hold us all, and because they're really good hosts. Everybody brought food and drinks, and it was an all-day eating fest. Scott roasted lamb (which we tell the kids is "steak") and my mom made a turkey.

I usually bring the drinks, because let's face it, I can't cook. But this year I stepped out of my comfort zone and offered to bring an appetizer. (I figured if I really messed it up, hey, at least there'd be other food!)

I brought a long, skinny baguette that I sliced into little rounds. Scott then watched me slice figs very carefully -- I'd gone to three stores before I found them, so I made sure not to waste them. He said it needed a fat to go with it, so I produced a small bowl of gorgonzola cheese. He was intrigued.

"I add the cheese, then melt it in the oven, and drizzle it with honey," I told him proudly.

"You could use chicken, too, with barbecue sauce, or even with marinara sauce," he said, and suddenly, I didn't like where this was going. "In fact, I have some left-over turkey."

"Don't touch my bread!" I warned, but no one ever listens to me. He spread a layer of marinara sauce, then added a basil leaf, a slice of turkey and topped it with mozzarella cheese. Even I admitted (silently) it looked good, but I wasn't gonna tell Scott that.

My mom also thought it looked good, and did tell him.

"I guess it's all right for left-overs," I told her. "But wait 10 minutes and you can have some fresh appetizers!" Even cooking is competitive with Dinsdales.

We placed our trays in the oven, and Scott tried to cheat by placing mine on top. I didn't know any better, but Mary called him out, saying, "You know everything burns on the top rack!"

He pretended not to remember that, but he got me in the end by turning on the broiler and overcooking the bread.

"Oh well," I conceded. "At least my appetizer was more Biblical than yours. Come on, you can't get more Biblical than figs and honey on Easter!"

He smiled, and held up the meat. "I cooked the sacrificial lamb," he answered, and like my mom says, no matter how funny you are in our family, someone will always be funnier!

Mary made a really wonderful brie and fig jelly appetizer, and her mom Fran made her traditional cheese ball. (It's so good!) My dad said me he'd eaten every kind of cheese ever made, and I don't think he was wrong.

Smed made a "grownup" mac n cheese that was pretty scrumptious too.



The kids weren't impressed with any of the food, and devoured a Costco-sized box of goldfish crackers before lunch. Mark ate so often (every hour on the hour) that I had no idea what his blood sugar was -- he never stopped eating long enough for me to check (you can't check within two hours of eating, or it will just read high).

The kids were then too full to eat lunch, but not too full to gorge on M&Ms and jelly beans they found during the Easter egg hunt.

Waiting for the hunt to begin

No cheating!

The hunt is on.

The victorious hunters with their spoils.

After all the cooking and eating, we took the kids to the park. They went wild, running around like maniacs, and didn't want to go back home. We tried to cajole them back to the house, but they ignored us, until we promised them cupcakes (more sugar!).

All in all, it was a really nice day. It was fun to sit around with the family and just laugh, and to watch the kids all play together. Our holidays are not that extravagant, and they're usually the same (sit around, eat, laugh, drink a little), but that's what makes them so enjoyable. They're the same, but not quite. But the people are always the same, and since they're my favorite people around, it makes for a pretty good day.


Hope you all had a great Easter, too! (Unless you don't celebrate Easter, and then I hope you had a really nice piece of matzah.)