And, Lo, there were chocolate bunnies in those days, and they waxed strong except in direct sunlight or when they were left where Sage could find them. And those that ate of the head without first eating of the body were cursed unto the fifth generation, and smitten with Easter grass until they were very nearly sore.
Tammy made crepes for Easter breakfast, and yea, verily, they were full of awesome. Well, once you added the fruit and pudding and cream and sprinkles and jam and made what is technically known as a 'ball,' anyway.
Ana introduced us to the fine Eastern European sport of egg fighting, in which you hold your egg and either hit someone else's, or they hit yours. Symbolic of the... the... the fearsome egg-wielding Cthulhu enthusiasts that used to smite the unbelievers' eggs with other eggs, I guess.
Twas great fun until Ashley had her Grandmaster of Egg-Fu medals taken away after the Olympic Committee caught her using a plastic egg. Tammy then trumped that by using an already-shelled egg for maximum rubbery impact. Soooo glad that the fridge no longer smells like a sulfur-emitting volcanic vent...
I learned a valuable lesson: never, ever attempt to explain the digital mapping of a waveform as an analogue for how truth is passed on. It may take counseling and/or a few hits with a mallet to get those poor kids in my class to be able to blink normally again.
The happiest times in my life are the simplest, such as the daily wind-down, late in the evening. It's when Tammy and I just talk about... whatever. The kids come through and either ask for kisses or hugs and wander off to bed (sometimes eight or nine times in Sage's case, who also, as a bonus, occasionally begins vacuuming at 11:00 pm.)
Nice to have everything that matters to me safe and warm and accounted for, hatches battened down and all dreaming of the next big adventure.
- Ryan
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