Yes, it’s Easter. I just got back home from Easter dinner at my sister’s house. It’s days like these when you realize just how dysfunctional families can be.  But that’s a different story for a different day. I should say that I really do not celebrate Easter from a religious perspective.  I was born Catholic, but I’m Buddhist by choice.  The folks on my mom’s side of the family are traditional Catholic. However, I’ve found a much more eclectic mix on my dad’s side.

I have a Facebook account and I have “101 friends.” Of course, some are truly friends but most are people you meet electronically. I enjoy it. I’ve got friends from many other countries. I have a group of friends from Starbucks 9269.  But I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve been able to connect with people from my dad’s side of the family, a part of the family I’ve not really been exposed to. They’ve branched out more. They are different, and they are not all practicing Catholics.

My parents were older when I was born. I never met my grandparents on my dad’s side. I only met his brother, Angelo, and his sister, Phyllis. I never had exposure to the rest of the family, but we’ve managed to find each other on FB. It’s been fun because we’re all trying to figure out how we’re related. We’re not quite sure yet, but I hope we get there.

Now, let’s talk a bit about Easter at my house. I sometimes feel that I am the master of what I call fringe parenting, and today was a very close call.

Last night my son, Aaron, and I colored eggs and then we put them in a bowl in the fridge for the Easter Bunny. I was up late writing and didn’t hit the hay until the early morning hours. At 6:00 a.m. my alarm went off. It was planned that way because I wanted to get up and hide the eggs. I woke up and looked at the clock and rolled back over. The egg hiding didn’t hit me at all. Then, at 8:30 a.m., Aaron ran up to wake me up. I told him to wait downstairs and I’d be there in a few. Then, it hit me. Easter Sunday. The eggs are still in the fridge. Shit. That was all I could think.

When I got downstairs, Aaron was curled up under the blanket, leaving me the opportunity to really be sneaky, grab the bowl out of the fridge, and hide the eggs. It was pretty pathetic, the sight of me running around the house hiding eggs. I managed to pull it off this time, but I may not be so lucky next time. No issues for my daughter around the Easter Bunny. Nope. The bunny isn’t real. Neither is Santa or the tooth fairy.  She’s done with that stuff, and she is chomping at the bit to announce her findings to her brother. She refrains only under the penalty of death.