Just Like Old Times
The Easter picture above is wrong on so many levels. The Teenager is wearing curlers and a hair net, my nephew appears to be naked and the Man-Cub’s head has seemingly been severed from his body and perched in his Easter basket like a gruesome holiday treat-this is not what Jesus would do and yet; I cannot help but love it.
Maybe I love it so much because it reminds me of every Easter photo that my mother ever took of my sisters and me- pictures in which we are all three lined up on the sofa like we were about to be fingered for a crime and in which someone is either rooting through their basket for the first piece of candy or crying about being scolded for rooting through their baskets for the first piece of candy…cough…usually me…cough and; it seems only right that our children should be immortalized in much the same pose.
Granted, there was 100% less nakedness in my mother’s old photos but, you get the idea.
We thoroughly enjoyed spending the holiday in my childhood home. My younger sister and I got caught up and talked shit about my older sister who had elected to attend a rodeo rather than join us in the fun and; no one can blame us for trash-talking her because, that’s what you get when you chose to roam about a dirty arena rather than spending time with your sisters.
We had it out of our systems by Saturday, though and, that afternoon, following a shopping trip to the neighboring city, wherein we had hoped to find the delicious mellocreme bunnies of our youth (denied!); Barbie and I participated with the children in the ancient rite of dying eggs for the holiday.
We were extra stoked to be participating as the following picture clearly illustrates.
Shockingly, alcohol was not a factor.
In fact, we didn’t start drinking alcohol until later that night when we left the children under the watchful eyes of Hugh and the grandparents and ventured to the local bar to catch up with some friends. It was really nice and the time went by far too quickly but; we had Bunny Duties to attend to so, we parted ways, promising to get together again soon and, hopefully, we will.
Sunday morning, the children were up at the crack of dawn, screeching over their baskets and falling all over each other to find the eggs the bunny had so thoughtfully scattered throughout the house.
Easter dinner consisted of ham, scalloped potatoes, creamed corn, homemade butter rolls and my mom’s awesome Frog Eye salad- a container of which she was kind enough to send home with Hugh- and, before we knew it, it was time to head home.
The fact that it had snowed four inches during dinner led us to believe that we might have rough roads ahead but, spring snowstorms in Colorado are fickle bitches to say the least and, the most we had to deal with was a wee bit of slush on otherwise wet roads.
We finally pulled into the drive a little after seven and I immediately set about the chore of washing enough clothes to keep the children satisfied for the week and-having learned my lesson after our trip to New Orleans-enough underwear to go around.
We don’t go commando.
Oh, we totally encourage our five-year old nephew to pose for pictures half naked but we draw the line at going commando.