Easter Weekend 2013: Sunday

Lynnette, Madison, and I are all in bed. Lynnette’s looking up restaurants in Anaheim. Madison’s watching Yo Gabba Gabba! and trying to fight off sleep. I suppose I can’t blame her; we had a pretty full Easter Sunday. She has school tomorrow and Lynnette has work. I will be at home with Abby. One of us will be grading quizzes and essays.

Like many families,

Like many families, we take part in the long-standing tradition of dyeing eggs. You can see Karen Higa’s OCD fingerprints all over this set-up: the newspaper, the styrofoam cups, the warm cans of Sprite to anchor the newspaper. I am surprised she did not fashion Madison a poncho out of a garbage bag and some ribbon. Lynnette bought a tray of peewee eggs because they’re “cute.” I don’t agree, but if we’re going to hard-boil and color eggs, it may as well be eggs I’m not going to eat. I tried my best to make a traditional Mets egg in time for Opening Day, but the smaller size of the eggs made it difficult to go half-blue, half-orange. I’ll be up at 7 in the morning tomorrow to watch little colored dots tell me what’s going on in a baseball game over 5,000 miles away. To answer your next three questions: No, I didn’t buy a new Mets cap for the season. Yes, I have my Mets colored boxers ready to roll tomorrow morning. Yes, I will be doing all sorts of stupid crap in hopes of influencing the outcome of the game.

While we were in the garage with real eggs,

While we were in the garage with real eggs, Tanya, Kristi, and my mom were in the house hiding fake eggs for Madison to track down. Madison popped into the house with a pink basket in hand. With that, Tanya led Madison off on a tour of the house, informing Madison exactly how many eggs were hidden in each room. The final egg was hidden in the crook of my father’s arm. “There’s one more egg,” Tanya said. “Where is it?” Madison asked. “It’s a golden egg, and it’s by someone you always take care of,” Tanya continued. “Honey!” Madison shouted. She ran to the couch where Honey had been resting. No egg. I wish I had taken video of Mad’s bewildered face as she looked at Honey, then up at my father, then at his arm. Her eyes grew to the size of baseballs and she jumped up at him quickly. But not fast enough. My dad caught her in his arms and gave her a huge hug. Madison tried her best to avoid his mustache.

Since my family was already gathered together,

Since my family was already gathered together, we decided to celebrate Madison’s (and mine, I guess) birthday. Lynnette and Madison ordered the cake from Safeway yesterday while I was at home tending to domestic chores. Lynnette let Madison design the cake, and that’s why it was a chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting and a layer of fresh strawberries. You’ll note the lack of Optimus Prime on this cake. Like I said, I don’t have a birthday.

Madison's first time on a swing set. She refused to let anyone

Madison’s first time on a swing set. She refused to let anyone push her, and while I taught her to pump her legs, she was cautious and used her feet to slow the swing down with each pass. I offered to push her, but she wasn’t having any of it. Madison’s an adrenaline junkie, but I suppose the set up – no seat back, no belt – made her wary of falling off or going too fast.

I don't know how

I don’t know how manages to slide with skirts and dresses, but she insists that it isn’t a problem. I swear I saw her walk away from the slide like she had underwear wedge in her crack, but when I asked if her “buns were eating her underwear,” she said “No, Dad!” and ran off. I guess I’ll take her word for it.

Happy Easter! Happy Baseball Season!

Happy Easter! Happy Baseball Season!

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s