Easter was just like any other holiday. Not a decoration in the house. (To be fair, it doesn't feel like Spring, so the whole bunnies and eggs mojo just didn't happen.) Mom too tired to put the holiday goodies out the night before. (I forgot that we used the baskets earlier in the year to aid Moosie's hoarding habit.) Mom oversleeping. (Hey, I have a cold!) Mom hurriedly stashing goodies in bags and secretly placing them on the porch and ringing the doorbell. (Yes, by now, our children think all mythical gifts are left on the front porch in reused birthday gift bags.)
Then you have cutting out two families and attending the remaining two gatherings, which are social nightmares for me. (I just don't like a lot of people. I do the best I can, but I am a social flunky.)
Moosie decided to stuff his mouth full of various foodbits as he is prone to do, though with a congested nose, he was unable to breathe. So from across the room I saw a purple and confused Moose and somehow navigated through various relatives and chairs to encourage Moosie to dispel of his unchewed plate of food by turning him upside down and thrusting his back. Of course after the choking, there was gagging and vomiting. Lots of vomiting. (So much for the short-lived excitement of him finally tripling his birth weight.)
Then later Moosie held a $5 bill in his basket and screamed when anyone tried to put candy in there. Of course the screaming caused other people to feel sorry for him, so they put more candy in his basket to appease him. This lead to more screaming and angry rapid firing of the rejected candies.
Bubba did well. Nothing funny or disturbing to report. (Much better than that year where he dropped the deep freeze door on someone's head, but had no clue that such an act would actually hurt someone.) He tolerated Moosie following him everywhere. And of course Bubba played more with the toddlers than he did with the kids his own age. But that is to be expected. The toddlers celebrated him. The other kids seemed irritated by him. But he was happy, so I am reminded that most of my friends are either younger or older, and friendship has nothing to do with age. (Note to self. Stop worrying about the age of Bubba's friends. Still slightly worry about whether or not he can hurt them.)
I won't get into the conversation I was having with my sisters about discipline when I shrugged and said that I wasn't really that bad of a kid. My stepmom gasped and dramatically exclaimed "Yeah, maybe compared to pyromaniacs." Disturbed, alone, lost, maybe. Bad, no. Thankfully, I was too high on chocolate and vomit fumes to care.
So that's our Easter in an eggshell.