I don’t know if it’s a personal flaw of some sort, but I can’t seem to get my, um, act together on the major-calendar-days. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter….they all transpire in much the same way. Despite weeks, nay months’ advance notice, on the day before, I inevitably find myself woefully over-committed and unable to meet all the obligations of said occasion.
For a birthday, I’ll typically purchase a gift well before the big day. But around midnight, six hours before the birthday boy will wake up, I usually realize I have either no wrapping paper or no tape. Or both. And I never did make or buy a birthday card, despite having fully intended to do so. Thus the gift is usually thrown in a hand-me-d0wn gift bag. Breakfast is usually eaten at a messy table, without any utensils. And a cake is produced, but the birthday candles that litter our house year round, are nowhere to be found. And dinner is likely served…one course at a time. A round of chicken. Followed by a round of vegetables. Followed by a round of potatoes. Because timing is everything and I haven’t yet figured out how to cook anything besides store-bought ravioli while tending to the blond wonders.
And so….it was Saturday. The day before Easter. And I was busy. And the professor had 63 final exams to grade (mark!)..by Monday…and could be heard (in five minute intervals) calculating – aloud – how long it would take and much sleep he would have to forfeit. And how much Rockstar he would have to drink to ‘make it all happen.’
I went to bed with the conclusion that Easter would have to be a two-day affair this year.
Which made for a fairly lazy Sunday morning, what with all the pomp and circumstance deferred…indefinitely. ‘All’ we had to do was get five people dressed – in slightly-better-than-usual attire – and head to church by 9.45. It should have been simple and straightforward, but these things never are.
The Hen woke up, eager to dress himself, but when I gently explained that I thought he might wear a button-up shirt instead of, say, a t-shirt with superheroes or dogs or skateboards, he just lost it. And spent an entire hour bemoaning the fact that he had to wear the preschool version of a straitjacket. The Gort was on board with the ‘button shirt’ memo, but he preferred to wear a shirt three sizes too big instead of the one that hung in his closet in exactly his size. That was another thirty-minute-battle.
We knew young Percy would pitch a fit about his pre-selected outfit, so we saved him for last. (Click on the link if you want to see his brothers wearing the same outfit….)
Miraculously we were all dressed and ready to go by 9.20am. So I thought I’d snap a few pictures of my slightly-spiffier-than-usual clan.
Apparently when you click the shutter button on a digital slr camera, it shoots daggers at young children, causing them severe pain and unhappiness. I didn’t even bother pleading, or negotiating, I just grabbed a bag of Skittles and started doling out the little sugar pills by the handful.
Half a bag, twenty minutes and a hundred gray hairs later, I was rewarded with some killer images:
To be continued…