Basket Envy and other Easter antedotes

When I was growing up, my cousins Rusty and Steven would come to visit us for Easter weekend. Oh how I loved it when Steven would come. We always played together and occasionally got into some mischief. The stories I could tell.. As far as Rusty, I was never crazy about him growing up. He was an Eddie Haskell type of boy... real nice and well-mannered when adults were around but a pure nightmare when adults turned their backs. Rusty even looked like you stereotypical pain in the a** kid, red hair, thus the name Rusty, and freckles. Let me assure before we go on that Rusty has since grown out of his childish ways and is now a great man.

So as every child does on Easter Eve all of us (myself, sister, brother, Rusty and Steven) would leave our baskets out for the bunny to fill. The next morning would bring a jealousy like no other. My brother, sister and I would have our meager baskets filled with some chocolate goodies, jelly beans, maybe some socks and undies. One time I even received a Shawn Cassidy iron t-shirt from the Bunny. Let me note that what I am referring to as meager was sufficient for an Easter Basket then and now but all is relative. Rusty on the other hand received an Easter basket overflowing with goodies. Steven's basket was pretty big too but I still recall Rusty's taking the top honors. His was your dream basket, every kid would have envied it. As I'd look at Rusty's basket and that smug look on his face I couldn't help but think... how does he get more stuff than I do? He is naughty. Isn't there a naughty and nice list with the Easter Bunny too? Perhaps the worst part of Rusty's Easter Basket is that he would take the contents out one by one making sure to display it for my brother, sister and I to see. Chocolate bunny, Fun Dip, Jawbreakers, Sweettarts... You name it and it was in his basket. It was horrible and the agony of seeing ALL his candy and treats seemed to last forever. We used to resent my mother, the Bunny, for not giving as much as my Aunt did. But, ow that I am older, I understand that my mother was trying to control our sugar intake and teach to be happy with what we did receive.

After the baskets, all the kids would participate in the Annual Easter Egg hunt. Like other egg hunts, ours had a special golden egg with a cash prize and various colors of plastic egss filled with goodies. One difference though, my mother and Aunt took special care in hiding the golden egg. The two of them would head out into the yard sporting gardening gloves. They would hide the plastic eggs in plain sight but the coveted golden egg was in a special, hard to find/retrieve hiding place. This is where the gloves came in. The golden egg would be in a mud puddle (sloppy and wet), mixed in an ant hill (poor ants were disturbed not once but twice), tucked deep into a holly bush (just far enough to ensure that whoever found the golden egg had to work hard to get it and would get poked in the process),etc. I can't remember all of the places, they say that you soemtimes block out traumatic events in your life. ;)Anyways, it became a challenge for my Aunt and mother to find new and some what painful/gross places to hide the golden eggs. Some other possibilities for the golden egg hiding place I am sure were to: attach it to a homemade ticking time bomb, place it inside radioactive waste, tie it to a bucking bull's horns, set it in the middle of a raging oil fire, place it inside a killer bee's hive, etc. Although their hiding places were a bit demented and as a result of some alcohol, we all survived and have fond memories of our egg hunts.

I am hoping to make some great Easter memories for my girls. We like to dye eggs, look for hidden eggs(in safe places), eat a wonderful family dinner and wear special spring dresses. Each year brings more memories of Egg hunts where the eggs were found and place in the basket by mom to scurring around the yard to find the most. From cracking more eggs than dyeing to loving to dye eggs and being creative to then dreading it. What about you? What are some of your most memorable Easter moments. Happy Easter everyone.

Winnie the Poo?

So, yesterday morning I was making breakfast as usual. Pancakes, my girls favorites. While I was mixing I could hear the My Friends Tigger and Pooh theme song and abunch of groans from my girls. "My friends Tigger and Pooh..." "Groan"... I decided I better go in the living room to see what was going on. Sarah proceeded to ask me "Why is he named Poo? Poo is a horrible name." Sarah learned horrible from her big sister. That was the reason for the groaning. Too funny. Sarah does have a point though. Pooh is a terrible name for a bear or is it a type of bear? And who's ever heard of a Pooh bear? I have heard of brown, grizzly, polar but no Pooh bear. Anyways, I found this to be quite funny and typical in our house hold where every natural body function is either talked about, giggled at, produced naturally or reproduced artifically. This little ditty of a story once again confirms to me how wonderful my girls are. And funny too!

Memory Monday- Moving Out West

When my father told us we were moving to Phoenix the whole family was shocked. My mind was racing... what is there? cactus? dirt? cowboys? tumbleweed? Let's just say I was less than thrilled to hear the news. So the months leading up to the move were filled with goodbyes, parties, pictures, mixed tapes, etc. Finally the day arrives.. friends and family are there to see us off to the "wild, wild, west" and our family dog starts acting strange. She can barely stand much less walk and is unresponsive. I think she senses something big is about to happen. So here we are putting the last few items in the cars and having to decide what to do with our dog Daisy. Can our beloved dog for over 11 years make the trip out west? The decision was made to put her to sleep. So with even more sadness and tears we headed out west.

The only thing I remember about the trip was that I sulked the whole LONG car ride. I kept playing "No One is to Blame" by Howard Jones on my Walkman. This was 1986. Play, Rewind, Play, repeat. Finally we arrived at our new home. Our house was a creamish stuccoish house with rocks and a giant saguaro cactus as landscaping. You must remember we just left Louisiana. Trees, grass, lush... This was a nightmare! My mother burst into tears. My father a little anxious and tired with a tinge of anger said, "Don't unpack! Let's turn around and go back." Of course we stayed and the rest they say is history.

Memory Mondays

I am going to start a new weekly topic called "Memory Mondays". During these blogs I will share my experiences that have made an impact in my life. Things that have happened that I will never forget whether it be good, bad, funny or ugly. I hope you enjoy my weekly (hopefully) jaunt down memory lane!

"Pat and Bill"

I started my path towards childhood deliquency when I was 6 and in 1st grade. One day my wonderful first grade teacher, Mrs. Birdsong sent me home with a note for my parents to read and sign. Let me digress for a moment... is Mrs. Birdsong not the best name for an elementary school teacher? I have visions of Snow White prancing in the forest with "bluebirds on her shoulder" and Bambi and Thumper at her heels. She was a great teacher. I remember her having a "Reading Loft" in her room. If you were good, finished your work you could climb up to the loft.

Ok, back to the letter home. I knew the letter was an account of my not so good day. Right now I can not remember what I did to deserve a letter home. It probably had something to do with talking to much, not listening or completing my work. I was never too bad of a kid so I know it wasn't something crazy like hitting or throwing a chair. I knew that I could NOT show my parents the note... I'd be sent to my room or grounded from something. So in my best 1st grade manuscript handwriting I signed the note for my parents. "Pat and Bill" is what I wrote. I thought for sure this would work.

The next day I handed the note to Mrs. Birdsong. She was smart.;) She knew I had signed it. Needless to say, I got in more trouble when Mrs. Birdsong phoned my parents that afternoon.

A funny aside to this is, I tired to sign my parents names for something else, but this time I was smarter and made squiggly lines like cursive. I was caught again. I gave up after that.

Weary Wednesday

Why do I feel so guilty when I don't give to a solicitor? OK! I am sitting at a Drive Thru tonight (which is bad in itself) and a lady comes up to my window and asks for money and I decline. I feel terrible and mad at the same time. I think... what if she has a family and just lost her home. It's horrible of you not to help her out. Then I think... Hey, I worked hard to get where I am. I worked to pay for college, worked two jobs after college just to survive, my husband and I sacrificed things so I could stay at home as long as I did, etc. Even as I read this right now I feel like a brat. That's it! Goodnight!