Poor Easter Bunny

At breakfast this morning, Annie asked me, "So Mom . . . It's Christmas first. And it's cold. Then it's Valentine's, and it's cold. Then it's Easter . . . [long pause] . . . Mom, if the Easter Bunny turns into a popsicle, can he still hop?"

I assured her no bunnies would freeze to death in this freakish cold spell. Although, most of our Easter egg hunting plans will have to be shifted indoors. Bummer. Stupid snow.

So anyway, this morning the girls were up bright and early, excited to see what the Easter Bunny left for them.
(Which, obviously, means the Easter Bunny comes on Saturday morning at our house. To me, this is just my norm -- we always did the Easter Bunny/baskets/mass amounts of sugar in lieu of breakfast thing on Saturday morning when I was growing up, leaving Sunday morning as a more traditional, religious Easter, where one got dressed up fancy for Church and ate actual breakfast food instead of malted eggs, and we had a family party in the afternoon. So, when we had kids, I informed Greg that the Easter Bunny always comes on Saturday, giving you all day to happily play with your loot (oh, and Easter is like mini-Christmas, complete with toys, nerf guns, bubbles, candy and random hygiene products -- like Annie got 'floss stick animals' this year) without the pesky interference of getting your hair braided for Church. Then Sunday morning, there's a bit more reverence expected (as well as some sneaking of jelly beans), and more preparation for Church and less focus on the toys and Easter Bunny. Greg, being Greg, was all, "Sure honey, whatever you want to do," and that's how it's been ever since we had kids. Who else does this, the Saturday thing? Just out of curiosity?)

First order of business though -- waking up Dad. Which isn't as easy as one might thing. So, obviously in this video, he's faking still being asleep -- but let me tell you, my children use these exact tactics every weekend morning starting around 7:15AM, and although he might stir, grumble and roll over, he's rarely actually awake for more than a few seconds much before 8AM. (Then, he will nap once or twice during the morning, while the kids climb, jump and bounce all over him like he's their own personal jungle gym. He doesn't actually seem to notice much.) Oddly, if Ellie so much as rolls over in her bed, in the other room, anytime after 6AM, I'm wide awake for the morning. It seems supremely unfair.

Here's Ellie doing what she did all morning. Eating candy. And drooling it on my carpet. Note to people visiting: Do NOT accept any robin eggs from Ellie. They were all sucked on before being put in her little candy container.

She wasn't overly interested in giving the bottle to her brand new baby My Little Pony -- but she was cool walking around with it in her own mouth for the first little while. (No worries -- they totally bonded later, and she's been feeding and burping the baby ever since. While eating candy.)

Requisite outdoor toys for the year: balls and bubbles and side walk chalk.
There were no sandbox toys (which were a must when I was growing up), as we have no sandbox yet.

Annie decked out in some of her new jewelry.

Ellie with one of the new Nerf guns. Another requisite Easter item while I was growing up. 'Cause nothing says Easter and the miracle of life and rebirth like fake guns and ammo, I guess. :-)
And dang, these things are powerful -- Greg's nailed me in the back with 'em a couple times. On 'accident', he says.

Annie's favorite necklace of all -- it's a necklace, that's a purse, that hold 8 different rings inside -- it's like the best piece of jewelry in human history.

Annie sorting through her loot. This child was incredibly interested in every last little piece of her My Little Pony beauty salon, as well as every last thing stuffed into her Easter basket. She barely noticed her candy, and had maybe 5 jelly beans all morning . . .

Ellie on the other hand . . .

. . . it was all, "Give me candy or face my angry nearly-2-year-old wrath!"

Happily hoarding candy in what's supposed to be a piggy bank . . .

These pictures bring up one very important question: Which of my two children has the worst bedhead?