This is my last Easter post– I swear it, y’all.
Around here, Easter is kind of the main event. If Christmas and Easter went head-to-head in a holiday-themed fist fight (is that sacrilegious?), Easter would totally win. Because it’s better than the other holidays.
I know what you’re thinking– “But Easter has the whole salvation/ultimate sacrifice/slaying of death thing on it’s side. Is it really fair to expect the other holidays to match that?” First of all, life isn’t fair and if that means that Halloween and Valentines Day end up pouting at the nerdy kids’ table then so be it (at least they have each other, right?). I would venture to say that, unfair advantage aside, there are plenty of other reasons why Easter is the star of the year.
- The shopping is a piece of coconut-bunny-cake. Everything you need can be found in the “cheap-plastic-things-your-kids-have-tantrums-over” aisle at your local grocery store and even if you buy nothing except jelly beans and faux grass, the little ones will be filled with wonder because bunnies are magic.
- It’s guilt free. You won’t find movies about bad guys trying to “steal Easter joy” or story books filled with humbug characters who “don’t believe in Easter.” It’s nice not to have the entire entertainment industry (not to mention Facebook and Pinterest) breathing down your neck about the necessity of whimsy. Celebrate as big or small as you want– there’s no Cindy Loo Who of Easter making you feel like a Grinch and no daggum shelf elf either.
- The color scheme is to die for. I feel pretty meh about green and red. But pastels? Yes, please. Easter is like a dish of southern buttermints or a bakery display of macarons. Your holiday dress will pass for appropriate fashion throughout the summer and into fall but good luck getting away with that red and green blouse outside the month of December (unless you’re Mrs. Claus, in which case, go for it. Also, thank you for reading my blog– it’s truly an honor).
But there is one thing about Easter that has been a hard pill to swallow: the gosh darn egg hunt.
That ableist bunny insists on dropping her (his?) eggs in the grass among the bushes and brambles with no apparent regard for kids on wheels.
Kids on wheels don’t do grass, Mr. Rabbit.
At first I was sad. Watching the other kids duck behind trees and tramp through flower beds while Simeon sat on the driveway pavement in his chair, gave my pastel-glitter-bedazzeled heart a tiny crack. It stunk.
But then I remembered that Sim isn’t even two yet and he doesn’t know about candy-filling, and he doesn’t care about the cash prize hidden inside the golden mother load of bunny eggs. All he wants to do is push past the cut throat hunters to risk life and limb wheeling around in the street without permission. Because he doesn’t know he’s different yet. And he doesn’t care.
So maybe I’ll cry about the whole egg hunt issue next year. Might as well pace myself, right? We don’t care about egg hunts– yet.
|We really tried to drum up enthusiasm. The kid did not care.|
|Sim rolled into the street immediately after this photo was taken.|