Hippity Hoppity

Easter is long gone, I know. But I have zillions of birthday and egg hunt and preschool pics sitting on my desktop that need a home and a little narration so I can look back on one very busy spring and remember all the good little bits that make busy worth our while.

Looking a little slouchy. Guess that's what I get for
hiding out behind the camera 99% of the time.

And it was definitely worth it (and by it, I mean the month-long sugar buzzed kiddies -- followed by weeks of whining about why, suddenly, we were back to applesauce and raisins for treats; the cankers from eating too many Robin Eggs -- I have no self control when it comes to pink and turquoise candy; the late night basket stuffing; and the bickering with Andy because, apparently, Porter's beachy sandals were a bit to feminine for his liking).

I always loved Easter when I was a kid. It kinda creeps up on you -- unlike Christmas and its paper chain countdown. You're just relearning how to fly a kite and blow the biggest bubble, and bam -- you get to dress up in something pretty and spend the day eating candy in the sunshine. Never mind that at least half of the time, it snows and you're left with puffy coats over sundresses. The potential of Easter Sunday best -- of little girls excited about new dresses and twirly skirts -- and of lollygagging in sunshine with nothing to do but go to church and run around in pursuit of candy is enough to tide me over on the cold years.

I also really love the goodies. Easter has the very best candy. Peeps. Cadbury Cream Eggs. Robin Eggs. Starburst jellybeans.

She really is my girl -- only the pink, red and purple jellybeans, please.

And a new classic: Target brand pastel lollipops that taste exactly like the opaque pastel pink watermelon lolly I got from the hospital when I was four after getting stitches in my forehead that my older sister then stole from me (AFTER shoving me into the fireplace which split my head open in the first place). I have been looking for another pink sucker like that ever since. I remember several times when I'd see one of those sucker trees in random stores, and I'd pick out the lightest pink one I could find only to tast bubblegum or blah fake cherry.

This one -- again, my girl -- lined each goody up by type, sat back with a
glimmer in her eye and marveled at all the sugary goodness that was hers.

She also really loved the "pwinchesses" sing-along CDs and butterfly "flippers".

As for the boy, he moved through his Easter basket in record time with eyes only for the new Matchbox cars. But he LOVEd coloring eggs and cried when we ran out, giving explicit instructions to boil "at least  50 eggs" next year.

He is our artist-slash-scientist. And at least once every two weeks, asks if we can do a "science project" that involves food coloring and bottle of water. So egg coloring was right up his alley as he moved each egg from one cup to the next, always ending with a cracked brownish-green or rust-colored masterpiece that he declared "just right."



Nora, however, did not like dipping eggs, which I had mistakenly been referencing as "painting eggs." After 25 minutes of pouting, we finally figured out that she was expecting paint brushes and watercolors not cups of colored water.

True to her stubborn nature, our girl refused to have anything to do with the eggs once the dipping strike commenced, so we pulled out the painting pad and shuffled her share fo the eggs over to one very happy big brother.

With baskets and eggs down (we have 1:00 church, so we had plenty of time to lollygag -- especially since I forgot two of the key ingredients for our orange roll Easter breakfast and ended up only with toast and fruit with last-minute scrambled eggs), all we had left was the egg hunt, which I had planned to save until after church but which two very eager kiddos and an equally geeked daddy did not think should be delayed.

The highlights:

Porter's nervous cheek biting after Andy shouted "go!" but before he spotted his first egg

And realizing that we did not need to police the hunt to balance the odds for Nora, who came out with just as many eggs as her big brother all on her own thanks to her generally more aggressive second child nature and a more focused search (Porter kept stopping to see what was inside and -- really, just a great big brother -- would pick up one but leave the two next to it while yelling for Nora to to come see the eggs he found for her).

A great welcome to spring (even though we would get at least two more snowstorms over the next few weeks).