The Easter gifts I ordered for the kids didn't arrive on time because they were sent by the USPS and the post office is broke, despite all those Pottery Barn catalogues, so they've laid off workers and consequently my kids have no Easter presents. So I had to run down to Uncle Bill's Country Store after Ken got home from work last night, while the kids were zoned out in front of Happy Feet waiting for some mild peril and rude humor.
Let me just say, in an unabashed plug for Uncle Bill's, it's a great little shop. Not only do they have all manner of gifts, especially stuff with which to fill last minute Easter baskets, it's a) right down the street, and, b)open late because it's attached to the Silver Lounge Restaurant.
I put money in the eggs we hid in the yard. There isn't much that fits into those eggs. You can either put in candy, let them rot their teeth and sanction gluttony, or, you can put in money, let them become materialistic and sanction greed. Choose your deadly sin.
At our house we don't talk up the Easter Bunny much. It's enough to keep up with the Santa hoax. Because there's no big Easter Bunny build up, I think the kids are on to the whole thing. H told Ken's parents that "Mommy did a treasure hunt," and C was suspicious when I told him there was still one egg left to find in the yard.
"How do you know how many eggs the Easter bunny left?" he said, suggesting next time the Easter bunny ought to leave a note.
I thought about this.
"Dear C. Hope you find your 10 Easter eggs. Love E.B.
E.B? Do you know what that means?
It means that Esther Buchanan is the Easter bunny!
Given that revelation, maybe she'll come over and help me get rid of all these hard boiled eggs.
song: You Send Me • artist: Sam Cooke
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