Fine, I admit it… I didn’t even set out Easter baskets for my kids this year. Two of them are “too old” to believe that a large rabbit comes to put candy in an empty basket left on the kitchen table, and the little one doesn’t even know what an Easter bunny is. I decided that it’s fine if it stays that way. While I love Easter and its religious significance, the pagan bunny can seriously take a hike for all I care. Do my kids need an excuse for large amounts of candy? Nope, they already have one — it’s called Halloween.

I did buy them some candy… it was left in a communal bowl in the middle of the kitchen table, and I announced its presence on Saturday evening. Jon’s mom had an Easter egg hunt, and kids braved the rain to collect plastic eggs (filled with, ahem, more candy).

We dyed eggs last night… some of them turned out super-awesome. Some just, err, turned out.

So the ones that merely “turned out”? Were mostly done by me. My tie-dying skills are just as disappointing on a hardboiled egg as they are on a white t-shirt at summer camp. But I digress…

Perhaps the neatest thing about today was me getting to watch my nine year-old daughter set up our dining room table with my grandma’s gorgeous china. While I’m not really one for formal, fancy stuff… her china pattern is absolutely the coolest.

I taught my daughter how to make deviled eggs, and watched as she carefully put out the place settings and arranged the silver. I told her that she could have the awesome china when I died… which will hopefully not be in the immediate future. But even if it does happen soon, I am comforted… because Easter has taught us a valuable lesson:

There is a pagan bunny who will continue to make sure my children have candy after I’m dead.

Zoe is running for class prez, and elections are today. In the last couple of weeks, she has campaigned like a champ. Hand drawn/colored fliers with her picture, posters, speeches… all on the tight campaign budget of $0.

Third grade class president is a position that’s all bark and no bite. Though, if she wins, she’s talking about implementing a daily Chuck Norris joke each morning, before any real learning can start. Because once you’ve learned that Chuck Norris’s tears can cure cancer (…too bad he’s never cried…) you are just nipping at the bit to learn. Also, she (apparently) promised the class a donut and chocolate milk party if she’s victorious (I’m pretty sure I have a something to do with that… like all of the buying and delivering), and she’s offered free French lessons to anyone who votes for her. (French, the language… not French, the kissing. It’s third grade, guys.)

In case Chuck Norris, donuts, and free French phrases aren’t enough, we pulled out the final stops this morning.

Behold: “Campaign Nails”

If she doesn’t win with this, there is something fundamentally wrong with the system… and they’re not even using the broken/ridiculous/”why do we use this?” electoral college for today’s elections.

If the title goes to someone else, the girl can honestly say she tried her best. And if she wins, I foresee Miss A’s third grade class being run with a lovely manicured iron fist.

A little less… something.

Bonus points if you can identify my awesomely geeky charm.

So while working on my newest and shiniest brainstorm this morning (ahem: it has zombies in it), my BCB*/neighbor called me from her salon. “Hi. I’m bored,” she proclaimed. “I think you should come out here and let me wash your hair and you can tell me about your new brainstorm idea.”

I was super excited regale someone with my new idea… along with the accompanying pen name. (No, I’m not going to tell you what the pen name is. Yes, it’s a goofy one. I said it out loud and guffawed at myself.) BCB* Katie nodded at the appropriate times during my idea-explaining. She told me I was creative and smart and would no doubt end up a gazillionaire from my shiny new idea… I may be embellishing this a little… and she washed my hair, just as promised.

And then she curled it. Like, really, really curled it. I looked like I was gettin’ gussied for prom.

I came home and immediately donned my puffy formal wear to do the dishes and fold laundry. I played Boyz II Men slow jams just for prom nostalgia.

And then got right back to fleshing out my radical version of the zombie apocalypse. And posting to Twitter. What? We all know I have attention span issues.

If you want me to show up to anything looking all spiffy and rad (circa something like 1994) hurry and call me before I sleep on this hair. Or before zombies come and eat my brains… which will no doubt screw with the hair at least a little.

*Book Club Bee-yotch

Banana nut bread… I do an okay loaf.

A group of bare-footed kids trooped down the sidewalk — sunshine on their faces, warm loaf in hand — to visit the sweet elderly lady down the street.

It’s 7 pm — my house is still in disarray, my hair is still in a pony tail, but my average banana bread and my cute kids’ faces made sweet Delma’s day.

Today was a good day.

The word of the day:

Jump.

Also: climb.

Or, if you’re slightly less conventional,

downdog.

I’m a little late posting these…

You see, yesterday was rather traumatic. We had to put some space between the events and the posting… had to give ourselves time.

Yesterday, we went to the…

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wait for it…

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Petting Zoo.

With wild, crazy, utterly out of control farm animals.

Like this here bunny.

I know. Is it not the scariest demon-thing you’ve ever seen? Yeah… you should have seen the baby cows. Completely terrifying. Deaky ran from them shrieking, begging to go home.

I’m not joking.

The braver kids rode wild, bucking ponies.

I know it… that girl’s really got a pair. True grit, not just braggadocio.

There was a wagon ride…

…but because it was pulled by diabolical, hooven creatures, D and I stayed behind and watched as the other kids were slowly dragged away into the distance. There was nothing else we could do.

Deacon briefly found a burst of courage, which afforded him the gutsy fortitude to run down the long line of caged hens and peafowl yelling: “CHICKENS DYNAMITE! CHICKENS DYNAMITE!” I don’t know what that means, but he said it with conviction, and the chickens knew he frickin meant it.

In the end, D found one place where he was safe from every biting, clawing, fluffy, neighing, cockadoo-ing thing:

The petting farm lock up.

Truly, our family is far too suburbanized. We’re embarrassed, and vow to get out more.

He wiped his face directly after. “Mommy, I wipe your kisses already.”

Today I babysat for a friend of mine. Plus my youngest sis had spent the night. Plus the usual gaggle of neighbor kids.

Which equals:

LUNCH FOR THE MASSES!

Consumed on my front porch today:
16 english muffin “mini pizzas”
2 lbs carrots with ranch dip
1 package of celery with peanut butter spread
enough drinks to leave 46 empty plastic Ikea cups in the front yard

This place is sorta like a soup kitchen, except the kids aren’t technically homeless and none of them will actually eat soup.

And the activity to keep kids outside,

a photo scavenger hunt.

Deacon: Stay in jammies until lunchtime…

… check.

Deacon: Swap out books at library, where you are clearly shocked to find dinosaurs…

… check.

Jachin: Stare out library window instead of finding “age and reading level appropriate” books…

… check.

(He ended up grabbing a picture book about chameleons and another picture book about magic card tricks. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, he is able to read 18 grade levels above that.)

Zoe: Whack golf ball into mom’s car causing slight cosmetic damage… check.

Zoe: Have a complete freak out over a neighbor girl’s obnoxiousness (complete with a near all-girl smack down)… check.

Day 1 down. 6 more to go.