It seems so idyllic: A mother helps her young children color eggs for Easter. And this is a happy-looking scene:
The reality is that this was one of the only peaceful moments. For 95 percent of the afternoon, it was a cacophony.
“Mama! He’s got my crayon!”
“I wanted the blue!”
“Get your egg out of there!”
“Stop slinging the dye!” (OK, that was me.)
And I also had to explain what the Easter Bunny has to do with Jesus. Like Christmas, Easter is a holiday of mixed messages: “Eat candy and think about Jesus.” Kids are right: It doesn’t make any sense. But as adults, we kind of go along with it.
I wasn’t going to give them Easter baskets because my kids don’t need candy. Don’t say, “Aww, that’s mean,” unless you know them. And if you know them, you wouldn’t say it. I caved and made small ones for them. Shortly after they hunted those slimy eggs and tore into the baskets, I regretted my decision. Their shrieks nearly made my ears bleed and their playroom looked like a Toys R Us had exploded.
I may have gone a little berserk. I may have smashed one of their toy guitars like I was Pete Townshend. I may not invite the Easter Bunny over again.
Observe and report 
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