Sunday, April 24
Easter as an adult.
When you get older, you really have to put effort into holidays otherwise they'll just pass you like a crop-dusted fart in a crowded bus. Oh wait, no, those just linger. My bad.
But you know what I'm saying. Without the effort of hunting down a tree, garland, lights, a wreath, eco-friendly wrapping paper (it's called newspaper), and fruit cake (no, really, Mr. Wookie loves fruit cake), Christmas is really just another day. It may feel like something should be happening there, but without getting your ass off the couch - it's just another day of the week.
Easter is no different. Although Easter as a twenty-something sans offspring, it really isn't as memorable as it is when you're a kid. Because thanks to modern marketing, Easter is about Cadbury eggs, chocolate bunnies, egg hunts, candy, money, and baskets.
I remember Easters around our house. Growing up, my parents would tackle the daunting task of getting 4 kids ready for church, shoveling 4 kids into the minivan, behaving 4 kids in church until it was time for the kids to leave, then lugging 4 kids home from church so they could change out of their Easter-ware and start the hunt on for those plastic eggs with shat in 'em.
One year, the Sheriff was particularly lazy in hiding the eggs. He just wasn't up for it. Maybe his morning coffee called a bit more than usually since he just helped lug 4 kids to church. So I did it. I was maybe 10. And I was AMAZING at it. I searched out some freakin' hidden spots. Middle Sister was probably about 5, and Baby Sister was probably 4 - so it was on to connive really hard places for them to find since I'm the bitchy older sister. :)
Come Mama Ging finding out I hid the eggs. She was pissed. And disappointed. But when it comes time to believing in the Easter bunny at 10, there's a time to quit it. And 10's a fine age. Just don't cut off me from Mr. Money Bags aka the Tooth Fairy. I'll knock myself out like Mike Tyson for money. I still will. Although the teeth now won't grow back.
I loved our Easter baskets back then. Because Mama Ging made it a stylish point to have new sunglasses in each basket. That may be the memory I miss the most. The sunglasses. It's always the little things that make you smile. Or we started Peep War-ring in the microwave. That makes me smile too.
Last year we were in Norfolk, Virginia for Easter. We got dressed up for a nice brunch, since that's family tradition. Well brunch was a rip-off, a whoppin' $60 a person, and I felt like I was at a really bad family reunion with second cousins, great aunts, and uncles that are registered sex offenders. No, we didn't actually go out with family. We went out with a large group of flight student friends. And no, neither Mr. Wookie and I have family like this. Thank goodness.
So this year, I'm going to the farmer's market, picking up some eggs, coming home and making my version of an Easter brunch. We'll have champagne, mini omelets, some fruit, and (of course) bacon. And we'll be thankful for what we have. We have our health, we have our family, and we have love.
I hope your Easter is going swell as well. If not, there's always pajamas to crawl back into while pulling out a new book and snuggling into the couch. Or you could join me for laundry. After all, it is Sunday...which is laundry day in our house.
Nephew gettin' his egg hunt on. Nephew needs to visit Southern California more. The same invitation goes his parents. Disneyland is oh-so-close. And I'd be willing to babysit. Although contracts will be drawn up over additional costs for diaper changes and hankies for tears.