Easter

The boys dyed eggs on Friday evening. I always buy one or two extra Paas egg decorating kits so we can dye eggs another time. Once a year seems unnecessarily infrequent for something so fun, but every month seems excessive. Two or three times a year feels about right.

On Saturday I was running last minute errands on behalf of the Easter Bunny. While I was away, Oldest Boy whispered in Chris' ear, "I know you and Mom are the Easter Bunny," and gave a smarmy wink. Chris winked back and said, "Shhh. Don't ruin it for your brothers."

Middle Boy still believes—in everything. It's a blast. He's nine so we know he's close to discovering the truth. Either through his own mental gymnastics, or other kids planting seeds of doubt with their stories of revelation.

"Dad, I can't figure out how the Easter Bunny gets around the whole world. How does he get over the oceans? He can't just hop. Santa at least has the reindeer. They can fly super fast, plus they're part of the horse family." [Duh.]

Middle Boy repeated his thoughts and questions to me this morning.

"Mom, even if the Easter Bunny didn't have to cross the oceans, he has to hop way fast. I can't figure it out. Do you know how he delivers eggs and baskets around the world?"

"No, I don't. [looking up, faking a concerned, confused expression] He has a way though. I'm sure."

What I do know? That the Easter Bunny at our house deserves the wine she drinks while dying eggs, because she hops her ass off making Easter special for the children. [Or "shildren" if it's been a particularly long day.]

Happy Easter!