This is the post where I lay it on the line. I present to you an unguarded look at a moment in my life in hopes that my mother-in-law forgot to read my blog today. . .
To say that Kevin and I grew up differently would be to say that black differs slightly from white. While our geographical differences were slight growing up, our parents' lives, moral, religious, psychological, discipline, and general child-rearing practices differed substantially. Everything in my life was about saving money and being conservative. Christmas was special, but we didn't get big items. Christmas presents were small, inexpensive, and few in number. I remember my mom making me Care Bears one year (think Care Bears pillows). My mother was emphatic that we not believe in the Easter bunny. She always stressed the true meaning of Easter, and that was celebrated joyously in my home. We hunted (empty) Easter eggs and ate lots of chocolate, but we didn't get Easter baskets filled with goodies. The Easter bunny never stopped at our house.
Christmas for Kevin was about. . .well, BIG. Everything was in extremes: toys, food, etc. My husband remembers the Easter bunny leaving a basket of plenty at his house. They had their pictures taken with the Easter bunny. They hunted eggs for the chocolate and prizes that would be inside. Easter was Easter because the magical bunny had arrived. (My mother-in-law did cleverly re-gift Easter presents over the years, but her sons were never aware of it.)
Fast forward several years. Kevin and I are married with no children. Easter is spent at Kevin's mom's house. I volunteered to bring the Easter eggs that my niece and nephew would hunt. . .After the first few, my sister-in-law was laughing, and the kids were uninterested in hunting the eggs. It seems you are supposed to put candy in eggs for kids to find them. It seems that if there are no candy, money, or prizes in said eggs, there is no desire to find them. No one had shared that part of the family tradition with me. My in-laws laughed, my husband was embarrassed, and I was hurt. . . and a little offended.
Fast forward several years. We now have two beautiful children that, I'm proud to say, will hunt an empty egg. We prepare a small basket for them that includes a few pieces of chocolate (that must be shared), a book (often about the Crucifixion), and a small toy or two from the dollar tree. We read, tell, and talk about the real meaning of Easter. This year, we plan on attending a community Easter service on Friday and spending Sunday at the very same church that I used to hunt eggs at. Tradition (times two) lives on. However, the moral of the story: Marry an orphan--your life will be much easier.
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