We did manage to celebrate some semblance of Easter amidst the chaos.
Mostly thanks to some great friends who hosted egg hunts on the days leading up to Easter. And made elaborate festive cookies.
Easter egg hunt #1.
I hung in there through the festivities, super duper pregnant.
Easter egg hunt #2.
The mad dash.
A little male bonding on the sidelines.
The kids were told that they could each collect 31 eggs, so of course Blake was very thorough about that rule. While everyone else ran around and collected as many eggs as they could fit in their baskets, Blake counted and recounted his lot along the way to ensure the correct amount.
And then he made sure that Nash had the appropriate amount of eggs as well.
Our friend Lincoln struck up a game with Blake, filling eggs with empty candy wrappers and grass and bark. Blake thought it was the most hilarious thing on the planet.
Gotta love the egg hunt aftermath, strewn across the grass.
Back at our house, the Easter bunny totally failed. He got too tired to hide the baskets the night before Easter, so he left the boys a note instead. He also knew that the baskets would be too much of a distraction for everyone to be ready on time for 9am church.
Blake’s heart sunk when he woke up and announced, “The Easter bunny didn’t come.” Until I pointed out the chicken scratch note and he seemed satisfied.
The bunny redeemed himself later that morning (and snuck out of Sunday School briefly) and left the traditional yarn trails to the baskets.
Blake proclaimed all week long that Easter was a “kid holiday,” despite my efforts to have a meaningful Family Home Evening lesson about the true meaning of Easter. But with all the eggs and candy and Easter bunny hoopla, it’s hard to blame him for his train of thought.
Maybe next year, when I’m not nine months pregnant, we’ll work a little harder at teaching the right concepts. For now, I’m glad that one more holiday is behind us (holidays are so much work), and that I finally made it to April.