One More Mommy

Thoughts of a mom and her husband, son, daughter, pets, friends, job (or lack thereof), house, family, trying to be more ecologically aware...

Friday, April 14, 2006

He's Getting Rocks

It occurs to me that Sunday is Easter and that there are a lot of child-centric Easter activities that generally take place. My mom's group offered up a water easter egg hunt, an egg hunt at a park district, and an egg hunt at an ice cream place. We went to none of them, because all Luke would do is run around and scream, and possibly eat the green plastic grass. Yesterday a box arrived for Lucas, because nothing arrives at our house that isn't for him in one way or another, even when I order things online for myself, there's always a few things thrown in for him.

The box that arrived contained an Easter Egg with doors and windows and chicks that my mother bought him. I didn't give it to him and say "Look what Mommy got you!" and I consider that tremendous restraint on my part, because I haven't done anything in relation to Easter traditions. And right now I'm not even sure if we're going to make it to church, you know, the whole friggin' point of this holiday?, this weekend.

There are no Easter baskets or hard boiled eggs in my house. I think I actually do have a basket and some decorations in the basement, which I have purchased - on clearance of course - in the past with the intent that I will wander into the beautifully organized "Decorations Closet" at somepoint in the future and pull out the exactingly labeled "Easter" box to decorate the house. Of course, the closet and boxes don't exist, so the house is not decorated and Luke will grow up highly deprived with a mother who only takes him to the park every day and walks with him around the block and whispers into his head as he drifts off at night.

I know what really matters about being a mother and all, and no matter what I do, my kid will wish something different of me at some point. He will wish his mother were more stylish, or thinner, or craftier, or whatever -er he is taken with at the moment. I can only hope that at the end of childhood, which is theoretically around age 18-20, he will look at me and love his childhood because it was a reflection of me and him (and Esposo and other children as they may exist) together.

His mom may not be the one to hide 30 perfectly colored eggs through the house and backyard, but she might be the type to dye his bathwater red (Redrum! Redrum!), pull him out of school on a particularly sunny early spring day, and let him have whatever pet he wants even though she knows she'll end up taking care of it. Except for snakes.


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