Easter Booty

 
Yay Jesus

Easter candy found its way into our house weeks before Easter (magically through cracks in the floorboards). I tried to be good to my health by passing it off to some of my coworkers and friends at work. Of course, they also brought in their confectionary excesses (Girl Scout cookies, etc.) which I indulged in while thinking it’s OK because it’s not mine, which is ridiculous. In the end, it’s all a wash. There really is no escaping springtime candy -- even if you’re Jewish.

“I love Easter candy -- especially Peeps,” said my Jewish friend one day.

“Oh yea? I have extra Peeps. Do you want them?” I asked.

“Yes!” she replied. “Yay Jesus!”

Easter Treasure Hunt

For our almost-traditional Easter Day Treasure Hunt, I (I mean the Easter Bunny) left clues around the house as to where the girls could find their “treasure”, i.e. Easter baskets. Their first clue was “Where is the coldest place in the house?” The girls went to the freezer to find their next clue. Only, the Easter Bunny must have been tired and didn’t expect the girls to be sooo smart and sooo literal since she put the clue in the refrigerator -- not the freezer. Luckily I suspected as much and pointed the girls in the right direction.

Eventually Lizzy and Samantha found all four clues which led them to their baskets containing a modest supply of chocolate, stickers, art supplies, and a six-pack of petunias which is a wonderful coincidence since I was hoping to plant some in the backyard anyway. Neat, huh?

In the midst of unpacking their baskets, Elizabeth went to the bathroom and upon returning said, “Next year, one of the clues can be ‘Where’s the yuckiest place in the house?’ Then, I’ll know it’s either the bathroom or the trash can.”

Thanks, Lizzy. I’ll be sure to let the Easter Bunny know...

The Great Easter Tree

Years ago, Fabulous Grandma created an Easter tradition whereby whatever seed you plant in the ground on Easter Eve, a tree will grow in its place bearing the fruit of your seed. When I was a little girl I liked gum, so I planted a stick of chewing gum and the next morning I went outside to find my chewing gum tree. Sweet. (So far I have not tried dollar bills, but next year I plan to give it a shot.)

This year the girls planted Milky Way Bunny “seeds” thinking, What an awesome, super-fantabulous tree that would be! The next morning we all anticipated a tree bearing the fruit of a thousand Milky Way bunnies (or at least a couple dozen). Lo and behold, right where the girls had planted their seeds, a small Ficus tree appeared with chocolate bunnies in pale blue wrappers hanging from each limb. (Again, a terrific coincidence since I’d been wanting a Ficus for the living room. Neat, huh?)

Right away Elizabeth wanted to open her Milky Way Bunny -- only, we had an uncharacteristically warm weekend in San Diego (and when I mean warm, I mean hot -- almost 90 degrees). So when she tore open the wrapper the bunny poured out. To which she said, “I am so sad.”

Poor Lizzy. And poor Easter Bunny. First the clue mishap, and now this. I’m guessing the Easter Bunny could use a crew like Santa elves, considering all the toys and candy the kids are requiring these days for Easter. (Poor Jesus -- drowning in a sea of holiday chocolates...)

Easter Booty

   Booty:
   noun
   Valuable stolen goods, esp. those seized in war.

Yep. That about sums up the traditional Easter Egg Hunt.

On Friday, the girls had Easter Egg hunts in their classrooms. In Samantha's class, her teacher always remarks how thoughtful and sweet Samantha is. She offers to clean. She hugs the teachers. She plays nicely and likes to read books. She's a good girl. Every time her teachers tell me this, I agree wholeheartedly, because Samantha truly is a wonderful, sweet little girl. And then I tell her teachers about this other side of her, to which the teachers all shake their heads and deny the possibility that a different, less gentile, version of Samantha exists.

Until the Easter Egg Hunt.

Her teacher finally caught a glimpse of the other side when Samantha couldn't find any eggs during the hunt.  Apparently, all the other kids were more determined and ran faster than she did, thus finding all the obvious eggs. Upon witnessing this injustice, Samantha threw down her basket, clenched her fists and screamed, "I DIDN'T GET ANY EGGS!!!"

When her teacher told me this, I thought, at least she didn't bang her fists to her head repeatedly as if reenacting some Greek tragedy. And I'm guessing she didn't spit on the floor at your feet like an old Gypsy, either. Because that's what she does at home. Yep. She does.

The following weekend, however, both of the girls took in quite a hall from our local community Easter Egg hunt. (Although I have to say Samantha is slow and we may want to coach her for next year.) Each year we gather with friends to partake in local Easter festivies that include Llama rides, face-painting, crafts, a bounce house, and an Easter egg hunt. While there is much running and grabbing and shoving during the hunt, it’s all pointless because no matter how many eggs they find, the kids exchange them for fantastic goody bags filled with chocolates and toys. I’m not sure where our neighborhood gets the money to fund such a generous and free event, but I suspect it’s from someone who used to live here and donates the money to satisfy some unresolved childhood issues.

However, I have a humble request. Please, no more whistles in the goody bags. I know I’m a fuddy-duddy. Kids are loud and I should be used to that by now. But something about the sound of a whistle blowing within 3 feet of me turns my head inside out. Perhaps it is the relentlessness of their blowing -- Lizzy and Samantha using the full capacity of their lungs with the intention of making themselves known throughout the universe. I am here, Universe! I am alive! ME! Can you hear me?!! Toooooot!!

Whatever it is, I owe someone an apology. Because at some point I said this: “Girls, please don’t blow those whistles so close to me. Blow them over there by that trash can," -- which was about 20 feet away from me and right next to a man reading quietly at a picnic table.

Sorry. And Happy Easter?