Well, the Easter Bunny successfully dropped off his loot and hopped away from our house in one piece this year. Meaning he avoided my kids.
(Thank goodness! I was running out of places to bury happy deliverers of chocolate, money, and gifts in my backyard. Santa took up a lot of room this year. Too many cookies, I guess. I had to crowd the Tooth Fairy a bit.)
It was an Easter Eggstravaganza all weekend. Saturday, we went to a church *gasp* egg hunt.
Sunday was the family dinner.
Each day involved family and five children under the age of four. Four were boys. Two were mine.
Get the picture?
We survived meltdowns over leaving grandma's house. Bug threw a fit because he couldn't hunt with every age group at the church egg hunt. Boo bit his cousin (again) and I've since decided that particular cousin tastes like chicken. We've endured pushing, punishments, tantrums, and sugar induced highs followed by crashing lows.
It was not a Norman Rockwell kind of Easter.
It was my own family's functional dysfunctional holiday.
Complete with ham.
And hams. My kids.
But thankfully, I have one less grave to dig this year.
My medication is keeping the worst of the nervous ticks at bay.
And now I have a two year old's birthday to look forward to (survive) this weekend.
And then I'm done for six whole months.
Yea.
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