I have done a less-than-stellar job teaching my kids about the religious aspect to the holidays, so they think Easter is more about candy and eggs and toys than Jesus. And who can blame them when this is what they wake up to:
A basket packed full of Peeps, chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs, M&Ms, and of course, a Star Wars toy, because how do you celebrate the resurrection of the Prince of Peace without an action figure packing several weapons. #MamaFail
While it's true that Ted and I moved to the country a couple of years ago, we never really left our church in Manhattan. Now it's not like we go every weekend. It's not even like we go often. But for the major holidays like Easter we show up, and it's nice to be back in the place where I went to elementary school and was baptized, where we were married, where both the kids were baptized, and besides, the Easter bunny comes and they do a really nice egg hunt in the garden out back after services. Then we go to brunch at a favorite restaurant with our non-Easter-celebrating friends Brad and Karen.
This year, we were running a little late and the church was PACKED. Then afterwards it became clear that there were several families who did not go to the services, but just came for the egg hunt. Fine, whatever. But don't be rude, don't cut the line, and don't shove my baby aside to get to the eggs first. And that was the PARENTS.
The kids, it will not surprise you to hear, were also revolting and the bigger ones hogged up all the eggs in about five seconds. One of the decent parents slipped me two eggs from her kid's basket so I could plant them for Andrew to "find." Poor William "found" just one, and was like a toy ship in a tempest, getting buffeted this way and that by boorish, unattractive children with argyle sweaters and no manners.
We went to the playground for a few minutes, but after I bawled out a nine year old brat for climbing UP the fucking slide, stepping right on William, Ted thought we might as well be going along to the restaurant. And since Brad and Karen ignored all the advice from Ted and I, and went ahead to procreate anyway, our brunch party was bigger by one.
Which was super fun, and also very confusing to the staff as they all think Brad is the father of my sons because they look exactly like him. Which they totally do, to the point where it's become a joke that Brad is the real father. It's a joke that Brad and I find infinitely more humorous than Ted and Karen do:
So now they probably believe Karen and I to be sister wives or something, but whatever. I've been thought worse.
When we finally made it home, it turned out that the Easter Bunny had stopped by our house, too (Thank fucking God or there would have been a sad display of eggs this year):
So in the end there were eggs for everyone. Next year I'll have to figure out how to get a little Jesus talk in there somehow. Any suggestions? Here's hoping you and yours had a wonderful weekend celebrating anything, everything, or nothing at all!
XOXOXO
ABC
A basket packed full of Peeps, chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs, M&Ms, and of course, a Star Wars toy, because how do you celebrate the resurrection of the Prince of Peace without an action figure packing several weapons. #MamaFail
While it's true that Ted and I moved to the country a couple of years ago, we never really left our church in Manhattan. Now it's not like we go every weekend. It's not even like we go often. But for the major holidays like Easter we show up, and it's nice to be back in the place where I went to elementary school and was baptized, where we were married, where both the kids were baptized, and besides, the Easter bunny comes and they do a really nice egg hunt in the garden out back after services. Then we go to brunch at a favorite restaurant with our non-Easter-celebrating friends Brad and Karen.
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| Waiting For |
The kids, it will not surprise you to hear, were also revolting and the bigger ones hogged up all the eggs in about five seconds. One of the decent parents slipped me two eggs from her kid's basket so I could plant them for Andrew to "find." Poor William "found" just one, and was like a toy ship in a tempest, getting buffeted this way and that by boorish, unattractive children with argyle sweaters and no manners.
We went to the playground for a few minutes, but after I bawled out a nine year old brat for climbing UP the fucking slide, stepping right on William, Ted thought we might as well be going along to the restaurant. And since Brad and Karen ignored all the advice from Ted and I, and went ahead to procreate anyway, our brunch party was bigger by one.
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| Mazlyn, AKA Most Precious Love of a Baby Ever |
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| The Boys with Brad, Their "Real" Father |
When we finally made it home, it turned out that the Easter Bunny had stopped by our house, too (Thank fucking God or there would have been a sad display of eggs this year):
So in the end there were eggs for everyone. Next year I'll have to figure out how to get a little Jesus talk in there somehow. Any suggestions? Here's hoping you and yours had a wonderful weekend celebrating anything, everything, or nothing at all!
XOXOXO
ABC