The Day Easter Became Christmas
Let’s for a moment put our religious affiliations aside, shall we? Mama’s ‘hood loves peeps of all religious faiths. So I don’t care what you believe, if you believe, if you ever believed, when you believe, why you believe, or how you believe. At some point, when we all turned our backs for a brief moment, Christmas swooped in and stole Easter. And I am left like a cartoon character spastically shaking my head, jowels a’flappin’.
Am I wrong here? Back in the day, I woke up Easter morning to find my cute little basket filled with all kinds of unhealthy, yummy treats (except the popcorn bunnies and the peeps, which somehow the “bunny” could not remember I didn’t like). I cut the bunny slack. He had four of us to contend with. A trade here, a trade there, and all was right again in bunny land. Chocolate bunnies, chocolate eggs, peanut butter cup eggs, chocolate, chocolate, and sometimes, white chocolate. It’s amazing I’ve lived to tell the story.
But the other day, I was at nana’s house (because no, nana is not the bunny, but she plays one on TV), and spotted large gift bags. Gift bags? This is Easter, right? Let me back up. First of all, I loved my grandparents dearly. They gave us so much, both tangibly and intangibly. But on Easter? A chocolate bunny perhaps and likely only because my grandfather doubled as my godfather. So a bunny, yes. And we never gave it a thought. The Easter bunny never disappointed, so no one expected nana and grandpa to come bearing gifts. But my kid’s nana, she is Bunny Part Deux, if you will. And I assure you, there ain’t no chocolate bunnies in those bags.
Then I remembered. I never really paid too much attention before I had a kid, but those gift bags (and formerly baskets) always had all kinds of non-candy goodies in them. Bathing suits, even! Gifts in a gift bag — how novel! But apparently, it’s not just nana bunny in on the gift action. In our mission to make our kids a little healthier (overrated), some of us have d’issed the sugary concoctions of Easters past. And I am no different. My kid is a year old and I’m not about to offer him a chocolate egg to choke on. (I do, however, have it on good faith from the bunny himself that Mama and Papa should expect to find a little something in there for them. Just sayin’.) It makes total sense, right? A few small toys get swapped out for the popcorn bunny (no loss there), and everyone’s happy, right?
Except those toys add up, baby! And I’ve been peeking around the mama ‘hood to find out what’s in these newfangled baskets: DVDs, Wii games, DS games. Holy crap, it’s Christmas! Here I am thinking bubbles and a sand pail. Wow, I am sooo not in with the right bunny. I shoulda told him I wanted a Bluetooth. Damn. Or a spa gift certificate. Double damn. Well, the bunny visiting our house isn’t down with the times apparently. I failed to have Boo Boo write up a list. (Oh yeah, he can totally write.)
But here’s what I want to know…where is that bunny? Does he have an address? Because hot damn, letters will be sent next year. I may even send him flowers — good, yummy flowers. And carrots. I’m not above bribery. What’s a little roughage when a mani/pedi is on the line?
So whether you believe, don’t believe, happily participate, or bitterly harbor resentment toward the bunny, if your kids wake up this Sunday morning and there’s a little somethin’ somethin’ for them, what, pray tell, will they find?