Sunday, April 4, 2010

Holiday goodness

Holidays are the time I just want to eat my kids up with spoons.
This is after I stop gritching about the cost, the effort, the time, and the secrecy involved in pulling off a great holiday for my kids.
Those moments, those infinitesimal instants in time when I see the true joy and wonder on my babies face are worth all the headache it causes me.
It's worth all the conversations about what holidays The Man and I will celebrate since we don't have the same beliefs.
It's worth the cost ties three to make sure my children have that early morning surprise.
I promise myself every holiday that it will be worth it.
This morning, it was.
Bug was first, crawling into our bed and weeping because we forgot to leave carrots out for the Easter Bunny and the Bunny was sure to be hungry.
Fast forward to his discovery of his basket and the yelled declaration, "He did come!" followed by excitement over four new books, two new movies, chocolate, and Curious George socks. (The socks were the biggest hit. My sock has a patterned sock fetish, courtesy of his Aunt Chell)
Next was Boo, woken with permission by Bug, who came running as fast as his little sick feet would carry him to immediately fixate on stickers in his basket to the exclusion of all else. The sound of those feet will be with me until the day I die, a auditory reminder of sweet babies who grow up far too fast, a reminder when my children walk when excited, not run, to me.
Then on to Punk, woken by me (because The Man was late for work and had to see his girl open her stuff) who dove straight for the chocolate and wouldn't let go for anything.
Since then, Bug has read all thirteen new books and my children have Siskell and Ebbert'd the movies they received. They are dressed and patiently waiting the ride over to grandma's house, here this afternoon they will eat as much as illness recovering bellies can hold, hunt eggs until they are worn out, and fall down to watch a movie.
And, while I bemoan it all, because hey, that's what I do, I will secretly tucking away moments to treasure when they are too old for plastic eggs and chocolate bunnies and mornings with their mothers snuggles in bed.

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