Now I Begin,
Now I Begin,
7:00 am: I open my eyes and immediately awake to dim sunlight outside the window. My brain registers fairly quickly it must be after 6:30 am.
Why is that important? It’s not Monday. It’s Sunday. I can sleep in a little while longer. Oh no! It’s Sunday! Not just any Sunday, but Easter Sunday!
My serial tendency to procrastinate means the Easter stuff is still in the closet.
Hey! I do some of my best work at the last-minute!
7:02am: I jump out of the bed, trip over shoes, and run into an open over sized dog crate. Of course the crate door makes a crashing sound and I suppress the rising epithet that is making its’ way out of my mouth. It is Easter Sunday after all. Our spicy sassy cat Ginger with her jazzy bell collar jumps out of bed and runs/jingles over to investigate.
Why is there a bell on her collar?
The youngest child is sleeping in my bed because the spouse is away.
He is getting to old for this.
I slip into the closet trying to be as stealthy as a “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” Ninja, but instead am about as quiet as a herd of dragons. As if I could not be any more obvious, I have to turn on the light because I can not see in the dark like the jingle bell cat.
Oh great Easter stuff is in three large, loud plastic bags.
Grabbing the bags and making a lot of noise in the process I hear rustling noise coming from the bed.
Freeze. Don’t even breathe.
I am certain the youngest, who again is too old to be in my bed, is sitting up in MY bed watching me. Ready to revel myself as the Easter Bunny I decide to just casually walk out of the closet as if nothing is out of the ordinary and I am not continuing to perpetuate a lie. Resolutely, I come out of the closet and make for the door bracing for the, “Mommy, what are you doing?” There is nothing, not a sound. Well there is me with my large loud bags. I navigate the maze of clothes on the hallway floor, because I have not finished the laundry.
It’s Spring Break, no rush.
7:05am: Our large 100lb Destro the Doberman Dog’s nails are clackety clacking against the wooden floor as he bounds up the stairs to me meet me and jingling jingle bell cat.
Could we be any louder?
Dropping the bags on the floor I start to sort through Easter Basket stuff. Any minute the kids are going to come bounding down the stairs and catch me in the act.
Crap! Eggs are not even stuffed yet! Why do I do this to myself? Why didn’t I do this last night before bed? Oh I remember why, because sleeping just seemed so much more appealing.
7:10am: I realize I have not had coffee, which is maybe why my plan of action is starting to turn into confessing that I am the Easter Bunny. I rally myself and turn on the Keurig, grab a coin jar, and start stuffing eggs with dollars and quarters. There are two packets of egg designed like balls and another in pretty pastel colors. There are exactly eight eggs each. The youngest does not like candy, so we use money instead.
Weirdo. Why doesn’t he like candy. Darn it! Why didn’t I just buy gold-fish and stuff his with those instead?
So there is no fighting on Easter Sunday, they do not just get the same amount of money. They get exactly the same number of coins and dollar bills. I have learned from experience.
7:15 am: I down the coffee in like three gulps, I am seriously an addict, and start hiding eggs.
I am going to make it!
Jingle Bell Cat is following me. Destro Dog is following me. Both are considering stealing the eggs. Back and forth I go to the kitchen to grab eggs and hide them. It occurs to me to put them in a container..like a basket..so that I do not have to keep going back and forth to the kitchen.
Oh well, I need the steps. Darn It! Not wearing my fitbit. These extra steps won’t even count. Is that feet I hear? Are they up? Insert curse word on Easter Sunday. Oh it’s just jingle bell cat running up and downs the stairs. Great I just cursed on Easter and it was for nothing!
7:25 am: Plastic eggs are hidden. I suddenly remember the real eggs.
Should I hide them? No, what If I can’t find them. Coffee has not kicked in, I might not remember where I’ve hidden them, they’ll end up stinking or the dog will just eat them and then he’ll have diarrhea and the back yard will not just stink it will really stink! Let’s be real. I just don’t want to.
Setting the real eggs on the table, not even in a basket or on top of fake grass, I step back and smile in satisfaction.
I made it.
Why do I do this? Seriously. This stuff isn’t even what Easter is about. It’s Resurrection Sunday! Jesus is not in these Easter baskets or plastic eggs. I should just tell them! “Hey Kids! I’m the Easter Bunny! I’m also Santa Clause, the tooth fairy, and I am the little leprechaun that leaves you chocolates! It’s me!” Outing myself would solve so many problems. Christmas Wish Lists would be so much more manageable because I could just say, “I’m not buying that.” I wouldn’t have to remember to tiptoe into bedrooms before bed to slip coins under pillows in exchange for baby teeth. Let’s be real, this is me. Realistically, I would not have to wake up extra early to tiptoe into bedrooms to slip coins under pillows in exchange for teeth. Okay, for real now. I wouldn’t have to come up with reasons why the tooth fairy did not come in the night to slip coins under pillows in exchange for teeth! Life would be so much easier!
7:30 am: I wake the youngest up. He is buried under blankets and pillows.
How could I ever think he would wake up. He sleeps like a dead Pharoh.
When I wake him he exclaims with eyes still closed, “It’s egg hunting time!” I immediately smile.
7:33 am: Everyone is downstairs, including the teenager who only makes appearances at meal times and to catch the Uber Mom to practices. Two kids, two dogs, and jingle bell cat. They all rush around searching for eggs. I smile, they laugh, and ooh and aah over baskets. They crack open the plastic eggs and count their loot. There is no fighting. They are happy. I am happy they are happy.
Okay, maybe I will wait until next year to shout, “Hey Kids! I am the Easter Bunny!” We’ll hold onto the magic just a little bit longer. Of course the teenager knows..hopefuly, but it’s nice to watch her lose herself into little girlness for a bit.
For good measure I quiz them on the true meaning of Easter.
Speaking of true meaning…what time is it? 7:55! Oh flying fig newton, we are going to be late for church…….