At 10:00 on Saturday evening, the night before Easter, my husband was on an emergency run to the store-covert operation-the Easter Bunny. I had my own ongoing mission: color the Easter eggs with six hyped-up children who should already be tucked into bed. This was not the normal hour of doing this annual event, but apparently "normal" had been taken out of our vocabulary. This all consuming
day week had left us with no other window of opportunity other than this late hour.
My husband arrived home about an hour later, kids still going on high, multiple body parts stained with vibrant hues. He motioned for me to join him in a secluded room. I immediately hoped for his sake that he wasn't going to try to sweet talk me into some "alone time" while our children were currently occupied...
He spoke in hushed tones...
Him: "The Easter Bunny has a problem."
Me: "What kind of problem?"
Him: "When I was at Menards..."
Me: "Whoa, back up Mister, what do you mean, when I was at Menards?"
Him: "Well, the road to Wal-Mart was detoured and I didn't feel like dealing with it. Besides, I needed some things from Menards."
Me: I counted to ten while taking deep breaths... "Okay, continue your story."
Him: I had the Easter treats, including the chocolate bunnies, but when I got to the checkout counter there were only 3 left in my cart. Somebody must have swiped them when I was parked in an aisle.
I contemplated the validity of his story: which was more plausible, somebody stealing the coveted treats out of my husband's cart or was this just some lame excuse to cover for his own guilt of eating his children's chocolate bunnies?
No matter who the true culprit was, the Easter Bunny definitely had a problem, six children, 3 chocolate rabbits...
My spouse suggested putting the chocolate rabbits in the youngest children's baskets. I knew, however, that our oldest three would cry that the Easter Bunny loved their younger siblings the best...and that would mean even more years of intensive therapy than was already scheduled.
My husband went to bed while I waited for the eggs to dry. In the end, I also hid the boxed bunnies separately from the baskets, so nobody could claim favoritism; it would be God's will who found the rabbits and survival of the fittest of who would actually get to eat them.
The next day the kids shared a resounding thought: the Easter Bunny was a total loser for only bringing 3 chocolate rabbits for 6 children, breaking the joyful tradition of each person having his/her own. I tried to convince my children that the Easter Bunny wanted them to experience the magical gift of sharing, just like Jesus wanted...
Each child was assigned a partner and the rabbits were stored away for later since the chocolate quota for the entire month (possibly the year!) was already met. The next day the kids arrived home from school, all clamoring about eating some of their bunnies for snack. After granting permission, this is what followed:
"Someone's been eating my chocolate bunny," growled the oldest child.
"Someone's been eating my chocolate bunny," said the middle child.
"Someone's been eating my chocolate bunny and they ate it all up!" cried the littlest girl.
All eyes looked accusingly in my direction...but then my four-year-old walked into view of the lynch mob, chocolate smudges around his lips and a sheepish grin on his face. He was now the top suspect due to circumstantial evidence. I nonchalantly wiped a hand across my mouth...not that I had anything to hide.
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