Easter egg hunting is a must because IT'S EASTER AND THIS IS AMERICA.
The kids also insist on doing mildly dangerous things that make me nervous. And I get what my mom meant when she asked me to sit down and stay still because I was making her nervous; she didn't have enough Shout to remove all that imminent blood from my clothing.
I'm pretty sure I've vacuumed since Easter but that damn plastic grass is worse than glitter, the herpes of the craft world. The Easter Bunny should probably just start filling baskets with tortilla chips. Everybody likes tortilla chips. Even if ants came in, at least they would eat the tortilla chips. The ants have totally been ignoring the plastic grass.
We have narrowed down the choices for our Easter cards next year. I'm not sure which one screams Jesus loves you and came back from the dead and Christy fed her family just about an entire pig to celebrate the event; HAPPY EASTER!
I think my uncle got a little stir crazy being cooped up in the house with all of our interesting energy so he took the kids and found the only place at the mall that was open on Easter...Sears. When he came back, I was the proud owner of a brand new rotisserie spit. I'm not sure why Sears chose to open on Easter Sunday but I guess there are people who might not celebrate Easter with a ham and are having their own rotisserie chicken emergencies. I'm thankful for scenarios like that that lead to me owning a spit.
Unfortunately, my gas grill didn't last too long after I decided all food from here on out will be cooked on a steel rod. When I went to Lowe's to buy a new regulator, I was told that my grill was too old and I should give up on it and buy a replacement. But you wouldn't do that to your grandma, would you? "Sorry, Grandma, I need to trade you in for a younger model even though all you need is a new hip." Seriously, there are approximately two billion Americans who draw up insulin into a syringe and lovingly stab their cat with it to keep Fluffy from succumbing to feline diabetes. WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME TO GIVE UP ON MY GRILL?
Well, turns out that we needed a more expensive part to be able to change the regulator, so we just converted it to a charcoal grill by picking up a $3 foil lasagna pan, filling it with Matchlight, and calling it a day. It was kind of like Grandma needed both hips replaced and we didn't have good enough insurance coverage so we just bought her a wheelchair instead. But we never gave up on Grandma.
The day after Easter was April Fool's and I had spent so much time thinking of different ways we could eat pig, I hadn't given much thought to what I was going to fix the kids on the holiday they think is as, or even more important than Arbor Day. Most of my arsenal involves colored mashed potatoes. I need to get a new line-up because the kids were onto me.
Blood worms (Jell-o set in bendy-straws), strawberry pie (shepherd's pie), and french fries (toasted pound cake with buttercream icing) and some bananas that I sliced with a sewing needle while they were still in the peel. Sounds like a complete enough meal to me, although you're talking to someone who thinks one crunch-wrap supreme isn't a meal until you add a crispy potato soft taco.
They ate the worms no problem and Daniel kept reminding me that I couldn't trick him.
Little do they know that this was all one big set-up for next year, when Matt and I eat a real strawberry pie and Jell-o worms in front of them right before we feed them shepherd's pie and real worms. It's seriously going to be the best thing I'll have done in 2014. I'm comfortable enough with myself to admit that's as glorious as I'm going to get.
After that, we made a trip to King's Dominion where I rode a roller coaster with my cell phone in my pocket. Note to readers: do not ride a roller coaster with a cell phone in your pocket. When I realized the phone had flown off the coaster, I filed a lost and found report and turned it in to a smarmy college-aged kid who is probably majoring in communications but will end up dropping out because the curriculum is too challenging and is interfering with his dreams of developing iPhone apps that he thinks up after he's polished off a six-pack of Zima.
What color was your case? It doesn't have a case. It doesn't have a case? No. Then there's no way it won't be destroyed. I dropped it from the peak of a roller coaster, not from while I was standing in line to get a funnel cake. I am pretty sure it is destroyed. I'd like to get my SIM card back if it's found so I don't have to input all my contacts into a new phone. You should always have a case on your phone. You should always have a case on your face. Whatever that is supposed to mean.
It was pretty easy to get a new phone, and I got a replacement for a third of the price I paid for it. Which was much cheaper than buying the insurance plan with the phone when I bought it originally. Which basically taught me absolutely no lesson. I still would prefer not to lose a phone again, because even when you send your friends a message that says, I've lost my phone...please send me a text with your name so I can save your number, you'll get eighteen messages that say, "Hey, it's me!"
The new phone did me good at Duke when Eve had her appointment. Do you have any idea how long a game of Candy Crush can entertain a kid? Long enough to have them get mad that they are out of lives and need you to ask your friends for more.
I said something really funny here but it's too inappropriate to repeat. Don't think about that too long.
Ultrasound to mark three years off-treatment. That's
It was a pleasure to not be asked to remove Eve's cotton t-shirt for her chest x-ray. Apparently there is someone at Duke who thinks that x-rays cannot penetrate cotton prints, which makes me wonder why I bother wearing a lead apron when I'm in the room. THEY CAN'T SEE IF I'M WEARING EXPLOSIVES AT THE AIRPORT IF I'M WEARING A SHIRT WITH FLOWERS ALL OVER IT. Crap, now we're going to have to strip search. Jokes on them, because I have no sense of modesty ever since I had a baby's head halfway sticking out of my lady parts and the door to my hospital room swung open to let in whoever happened to want to gossip with the nurse who was constantly wiping betadine on my nether-regions.
Two thumbs up for clean scans. Two additional thumbs up for the tutu. If you can do all that at the same time, you must be an orangutan.
This tutu was sent to Eve from one of her Chemo Angels when she was on treatment. It has seen MRIs, CTs, ultrasounds, x-rays, bloodwork, pre-op appointments, post-op appointments, transfusion, chemo infusions, and radiation. I guess I've seen all of that, too, but I haven't held up quite as cute. You know what? Cute, schmute. I'm going to rock these sweatpants until I need both hips replaced.
Take that for as meaningful an ending as you can make of it.