In order to better understand your favorite bloggers (Beth and me), I came up with a new series idea. We’ll each pick a story from our past – it can be anywhere from infancy to last week – and relay it to you in painstaking detail. Or, we’ll just write a few sentences and let you decide where we fall on the crazy meter (my guess is high).
A few weekends ago my family and I celebrated Easter. (Yes, I did enjoy drinking Coke again.) In typical Summers fashion, we reminisced about past holidays and traditions. As children, my parents taught us both about Jesus’ resurrection AND the Easter Bunny. Well, no offense to Jesus, but that furry guy brought us gifts, candy and promoted awesome things like painting eggs, so we were all about his rituals.
The most exciting things on Easter morning were waking up to see what goodies the Easter Bunny left us and searching for our decorated eggs. One particular Easter morning when I was around six, I woke up early and wanted to begin the fun. My older sister urged me to stay in bed:
Courtney, “No, Ashley we can’t go downstairs. Mom and Dad said they would come and get us when it was time to look for the eggs.”
Me, “Blah, blah, blah.”
After threatening to find their Easter eggs, my sisters decided to come with me.
We quietly made our way downstairs and found our eggs sitting in a pile on the kitchen counter. Imagine our horror when we realized the Easter Bunny had not done his job. I. was. ENRAGED. Being an impulsive and vengeful child, I would not stand for such gross injustice. I looked to my sisters and asserted, “We’ll teach that Bunny not to hide OUR eggs.”
Then, I took an egg and smashed it into the living room carpet. It didn’t end there. My sisters and I took every Easter egg and had a hard boiled party. Their reluctance gave way to joy as yolks were massaged into the carpet. I showed them the proper technique to most effectively damage the egg: press hard and spread. My younger sister and mentee got creative by using her toes to disperse the crumbled mess. When we finished, the carpet was ruined, the eggs were destroyed and I felt that justice had been served. We made our way back upstairs as if nothing had happened.
Our parents obviously weren’t thrilled when they woke up and found a destroyed living room. They were “disappointed.” Mom explained that the Bunny didn’t hide our eggs because we got out of bed and disobeyed our parents. (Well played, Carol.) Further, we would not receive our Easter money. It would go towards replacing the carpet. Shock! Horror! Outrage!
I protested, “NOT FAIR. Carpet doesn’t cost $20!!!”
Dad (trying to control his anger), “It costs a lot more than $20!”
One last thing: the eggs were always well hidden after that ill-fated Easter morning. So, you tell me who won? (Me.)