Not only do I want to shank the Easter Bunny in his nads but I want to punch him in the throat.
It’s not even because of the candy. It’s just in general.
Holidays are fun and blah blah blah but, generally speaking, they throw my --
routine-craving, plan to the hour, OCD and love to sleep in until 10am on the weekends children-- into a major tizzy of epic proportions..
(No - I have no idea where those traits come from. Must be Rambo.)
It’s all fun and games…until the next morning.
You see - in the morning, the over-stimulation and over-abundance of food rears its ugly head.
For example – this morning – Rambo happened to be getting ready with us because he works a different shift today. Thank God because if I had to pull parent duty alone this morning I’m pretty sure that one of my kids would have been dead by 7am.
I’m getting my hair ready and I hear sobbing.
Not just a little cry, mind you. Sobbing.
There sits Banana and I say “what’s wrong” – thinking her leg got cut off or something worthy of the sobbing and all she says is, “I don’t know what to wear.”
Jesus Lord. Kill me now.
I painstakingly lay out 3 pairs of pants with 3 matching shirts and I ask her if she thinks she could just pick from these SIX selections. She shakes her little head yes. I go away.
I’m stupid like that and I thought everything would be smooth sailing after that.
5 or so minutes later I still hear crying. I swear on all that is holy – I’m going to hunt the Easter Bunny down and rip off his damn ears and shove them up his ass.
I go in her room again and ALL 6 pieces of clothing are all over her floor. Oh yah, my darling child of Satan threw them because she said she hates all of them.
Yes, I'm aware that I should have yelled at her or grounded her or talked to her about being nice to her clothing or whatever the hell a good Mom would have done or said at that moment - but listen - it was all of 6:19am and I had not the desire nor the energy and I never once claimed to be a good mom anyway -
Seriously. I’m not going to survive this.
Meanwhile Watermelon isn’t throwing fits and she’s not naked but she is grouchy and lethargic and says she feels terrible. F*cking Reeses eggs. I’m pretty sure when you eat 20 of them, it indeed makes you sick. Why the hell don’t they come with a warning label? I should sue them.
Somehow I finish getting ready and go to the kitchen where Rambo is packing lunches. Banana is still crying. Finishing getting ready with her face all red and scrunched up, sobbing – like we just beat her for 10 hours straight or something.
Rambo leans over and whispers to me, “You wanna go away to some deserted island and never come back?”
I very honestly and seriously said to him, “Dude – not funny. Don’t tempt me.”
Our kids are over-tired and they were over-stimulated and over-fed.
Me? I’m just OVER THIS.
We told both kids to go get in the car and just sit there and we’d be ready in a minute to take them to school. Neither Rambo or I could stand to deal with the sobbing and snarling for one more second.
There was no reasoning it away. No making it better. It just was.
When we got downstairs to the garage, Rambo opened Banana’s door and I heard him tell her everything would be okay, that he’d cuddle her tonight and that she would have a good day telling everyone what the Easter Bunny got her. He hugs and kisses her and says goodbye.
I’m sitting in the front listening.
He goes to the other back door and I hear him tell the older one that everything will be fine, he hopes she starts feeling better, he’ll cuddle her too and he loves her. Kisses her and says goodbye.
I’m still listening.
He comes to my door. Laughing. And says, “Do I need to give you a pep talk too? Don’t worry – I’ll cuddle you too and everything will be alright.”
I snap back – um – you can’t cuddle me. You have two meetings tonight. Take that and shove it in your ability to laugh through this, heifer.
He says, “I’ll cuddle you guys in shifts, I promise. What a great April Fool’s Day huh?”
Kiss, hug, goodbye….as I mumble, “Thank God I’m not a teacher today. Can you imagine dealing with all the little kids coming off the sugar high? Torture in its truest form. Who the hell needs waterboarding anyway?”
We rode in complete silence all the way to our destination as I secretly contemplated how far I could get if I kept on driving after I dropped them off before anyone would notice I was gone.
It’s nearly as bad as the Christmas holiday hangover.
Except this time I can wear flip flops instead of a parka and mittens while I hunt down the bastard responsible for all of this.
Holy grasshopper dicks, people. I hate holidays.
Wait, wait. I mean I hate the day after a holiday when school is the very next day.
The whole process should be illegal or barred becasuse duh - ain’t nobody got time fo dis.
How about you? How was your Easter?
And by asking that, I basically mean I only want to hear about it if it was as horrific as mine, mkay?