I don’t know why I got all excited about Easter. Maybe it’s because the winter is so long and Easter is my barometer of spring-ness. It’s an excuse to go buy fresh new outfits, get the boys a haircut, go outside and blow bubbles and so on and so forth.
We chose not to go to church this year, mostly because the church that we’ve been attending just isn’t that awesome. I’ve written about it before (in a post that I can’t remember), but it is true: Pastors should spend less time referencing social media to sound cool and hip and spend more time getting intellectual about their sermons. This pastor, every week, makes a reference to Facebook and/or Star Wars just to get a giggle. But at the end of the sermon, I’m shaking my head like “what the heck was the point of that, dude?” and we never used to do that with our church back in Maryland (which we return to whenever we are staying in town).
So because we weren’t going to church, I decided we’d have special Easter breakfast. Eggs Benedict, my favorite. Which is actually quite easy to do if you understand that cooking is the art of manipulating time. Eggs Benedict has a lot of things that you have to assemble, and the timing of each element is important. I just happen to be a master at this (yeah, I’m bragging. Yeah, I really should be on Iron Chef. No, don’t click away from my page!), so I make it often for special occasions.
I also decided that I would bake Hot Cross Buns as part of my contribution to Easter dinner alongside the potatoes au gratin that I was planning on making.. I know that this is traditionally a Black Friday food, but everyone loves yeasty bread, so I decided to do it.
So I was up at 6:15 on Sunday morning because yeast breads need time to rise and what not.
And Ursa Minor, who was sleeping in the living room, was waiting for me.
He decided to scream through my kneeding process, waking up The Husband, who had not gotten any sleep.
That, of course, got Ursa Major up, too.
That’s fine. The bread was set aside to rise. I got to the chopping of potatoes for breakfast fries and starting the elements of the eggs benedict.
Well, Ursa Minor can’t eat Eggs Benedict, so I had The Husband feed him early. He screamed through the entirety of his breakfast, which frustrated a sleepy Husband.
The Husband decided that Ursa Major should have Eggs Benedict, too, and not the yogurt and cheerios that I suggested that he should have. So I poached him his own egg and went through the assembly of his breakfast.
Upon being seated at the table, Ursa Major shoved his breakfast aside, declaring “No breakfast! No eat!” and didn’t eat a single bit of it.
That was my morning, y’all. So while desperately trying to listen to CBS Sunday Morning (my favorite morning show) while sipping coffee and chewing on my favorite breakfast (which I only ate half of), I was thinking to myself “it is going to be a bad day.”
And it was.
Because the boys fought and bickered all of the morning long. And every time I tried to get them dressed and out of the house to go play with the bubbles and sidewalk chalk that came in their Easter basket, something got in my way.
and whenever I needed to do something with the buns (like separate and roll them for their second rise, or give then an egg wash so that they could put them in the oven), Ursa Minor was at my feet, screaming, demanding that I hold him (rendering baking impossible.)
So by the time I got the buns done, the kitchen clean, the dishwasher rolling, the shower done, the Husband awake and the boys dressed, I was already exhausted. We walked out the house at 1 for 30 minutes of playing outside before heading over to Nana and Pop-Pop’s.
The drive to Mom’s is 50 minutes. 10 minutes in, Ursa Minor (finally) decides to take a nap. Ursa Major was up and identifying trucks and cars and singing along with the music we had on.
But 15 minutes before we arrive at Mom’s, he starts screaming. “All done car! All done car!” and would not stop whining.
I thought I was going to hurt myself or someone else. Unbelievable. There was nothing wrong with that child. He was straining against the seat and screaming simply because he didn’t like to be in the car.
So then, of course, having not napped, Ursa Major was just grumpy.
And Ursa Minor was clingy.
And while mom’s roast beef was impeccable, my au gratins were only okay. And she didn’t even taste the buns that I had spent 6 hours preparing that day.
and then we went home.
We put the boys to bed straight from the car (because of course they slept on the way home, but not before screaming for the first 20 minutes of the ride. Not because they were upset, but because Ursa Major figured out that if he screams, it makes Ursa Minor laugh. Joy of joys.)
All we were living for, at that point, was the Game of Thrones premiere at 9. We crawled onto our living room couches, our minds excited, our bodies exhausted.
and you know what? The episode was only “meh.”
So when we got into bed, we just looked at each other and were like “Happy Easter.” In the most exhausted and disappointed voices we could muster.
Only 2 things went right yesterday:
1) The Carter’s outfits that I picked out for the boys were awesome. I mean, freaking perfect.
2) My in-laws sent some goodies for the boys to put in their Easter basket. It was the usual junk: Rice krispy treats, peeps, jelly beans, some chocolate bunnies…and 2 books. Now, when we got the books, I didn’t unwrap them. I had The Husband do that on Saturday night when we were setting up the basket presentation. They are two prayer books for children. Great. That’s fine. I didn’t even give them any thought. But at 6:15, when I decided to give Ursa Minor the boob before beginning my bread baking, I looked more closely at the books. One of the covers had children gathered around Jesus laughing and singing. And I’m looking at the cover and the multi-cultural faces, and my mind is doing the calculus.
The Jesus on the cover of the storybook is Black.
My In-laws sent me a book with Black Jesus!
I couldn’t believe it. I said it outloud. I was like “Is that Black Jesus??”
Now, for those who are not regular readers, I don’t have a lot of love or respect for my mother or father-in-law. They are the height of just plain ignorant Whiteness. They aren’t blatantly racist, but they are often privileged, insensitive, naive, and, frankly, stupid. They don’t generally think before they speak, and they’ve lived in a white bubble for all of their lives.
So the fact that one of them was in a store looking for a Black Jesus is like whoa to me. They actually thought about it. The book, which is beautiful, is done by different illustrators and has Bible characters in just about every color.
I’m just telling you, I’m in awe. I told my husband I was quite impressed.
And supposedly, when The Husband called to say thank you, my mother-in-law said “Well, I saw the prayer book that I had when I was a child. But it had a little blonde girl on the front of it, and it’s from the 40’s…and I was like, let’s go find something else.”
That is deep. That is real deep for her.
and I’m moved and grateful.
It’s the little things, you know?
So what is the moral of my big Easter Fail story? Don’t get your hopes up for an exciting day when you have a toddler and a baby. Because, clearly, you’ll go through a series of disappointments.