Ahhh, simpler times. This reminds me of my youth, lo those many (many, many, many) years ago. In fact, whenever I talk to my sister or cousin on Easter, I still say “Happy Easter Bunny – BOCK BOCK!” (Although I must say that I’m pretty sure the little girl happily eating candy socked that boy who is sitting next to her on the stairs in the eye and stole his basket…I think.)
Yes – those were the good old days. The days of full baskets on an Easter Sunday morning. The days of M&M’s just making you happy because you weren’t allowed to have candy all the time (back when you didn’t have your very own giant stash jar of M&M’s tucked away in the back of a cabinet in your kitchen….which you now vow to throw away right after going for a jog…hehehe).
I am very blessed and Easter for me was always fun. I awoke those eventful Sunday mornings to find an overflowing basket of goodies with a tiny note bearing a little paw print which was meant to be Monsieur Bunny’s signature. I’d crack open a died egg and eat that for breakfast – followed by one (and only one) piece of candy – before heading off to church. I always had a pretty dress and, often unfortunately, a not-so-pretty hat. After church, we would head out to my Grandparents’ home or my ADQ’s house but either way, there were cousins to play with.
I mentioned in the past that I often received a baby chick for Easter…and it’s actually a true story. Baby chicks are the best: they’re cute and little and fluffy. Waking up to find one in your Easter basket is a real treat…but I don’t recommend it. We received these chicks because my grandfather had a chicken coop and each year he replenished his stock of egg-laying chickens. Easter always fell around this time, so I believe it was simply convenient to give me a chicken which was then almost immediately transported to my Papaw’s (that’s southern for ‘grandfather’) coop. The reason I say it’s not such a great idea is due to one particular Easter. I don’t remember this Easter but my dad does. Apparently my cousin and I had been playing in the back yard with my chick and it fell upon some misfortunate – possibly due to an overabundance of little girl love. Still at the stage when I believed my father could fix ANYTHING, I toted my poor baby bird into the house, marched up to my dad and requested that he “fix it.”
SPECIAL NOTE: There is a certain point when baby chicks who have been over-cuddled cannot be “fixed.”
On those Easter Sunday afternoons, we always enjoyed a huge family egg hunt. The adults, often carrying around a glass of wine or a cold beer, would hide the eggs and then instruct us older kids to help the younger kids. As I remember it, helping the younger kids basically meant walking them over to an egg, pointing at it, fighting the urge to pick it up yourself, then picking it up and thrusting it in the kids basket before you could cave to temptation. During one of those egg hunts when I’d been asked to be helpful, my family happened to have a video camera on hand. THANKFULLY, there is still a video of me out there somewhere – maybe on a shelf in my Aunt Queen’s house? – that has an overly excited, and of course HELPFUL ME screaming at the top of my lungs over, and over, and over again that “Whoever finds the chicky wins a prize!!!!” Whatever the heck that means. But suffice to say that I’m regularly met with this greeting when visiting my cousins.
So many good Easter memories. It makes me wonder what Pineapple will remember. This is the first year she will understand that the basket her Nana has sent is for her. She’ll see the eggs filled with treats, the stuffed lamb, and the bubble blower and she’ll know they are for her. And hopefully she’ll know what a blessed little girl she is. I can’t WAIT for Easter Sunday. And although it was super fun as a kid…I’m thinking it’s even better as a mommy.
Happy Easter folks!