The one with the accidental Easter Bunny
Do your children believe in the Easter Bunny?
Asking for, well, someone who’s not quite sure how it happened, but whose children really do. As in, think the Easter Bunny is an actual ‘thing’, a real-life entity, akin to Father Christmas, who stealthily delivers eggs in the middle of the night like a generous chocolate-laying chicken, before hopping off to the next house…
…And while clearly this person is me, quite frankly, I’m mystified. Neither me or Alex believed in the Easter Bunny growing up and it’s not anything I remember talking about to the girls, so I’m kind of, sort of, not really sure where it’s coming from (Is it nursery? School? Friends? Who knows).
It is charming though, but it does add another layer of deception to the everyday day-to-day of parenting, which is hard when you’re generally so tired you can’t remember your own name.
And it also leads to situations like the following. We spent the Easter weekend at my parent’s house, and as soon as we walked through the door on Good Friday my Mum happily shouted ‘I’ve put ALL the Easter eggs out on display!’ Which lead to me making a comedy leap across the room to stuff them up my jumper while Alex quickly ushered the children into an egg-free part of the house.
(Happy late Easter by the way! How was your long weekend? How are the holidays going?)
Also, on the subject of Easter at my parent’s house with the grandchildren, I’d like to make two complaints. Easter at my parent’s house consisted of:
- An all-guns-blazing, bells and whistles egg hunt with clues, paw prints, egg baskets and the whole works. Obviously, everyone loved it, but going down the rabbit hole into my own childhood, I’m pretty sure we never even had an egg hunt when I was little *sob*
- The girls were given fancy pants Easter ‘eggs’ from my parents (shaped like My Little Pony!) Which we would never have had when we were younger, either. My poor deprived childhood.
I’ve got my eye on the rest of the Pony though, it’s delicious.
And finally, bouncing back to the subject of the Easter Bunny. In the style of most parents today, we’re open and upfront about most things with our children, apart from, it seems, the big ones – Father Christmas, the Tooth Fairy and now this. So we’re accidentally, somehow in a position whereby my three-year-old knows exactly what a vagina is but thinks Easter eggs are a gift from Peter Rabbit’s generous cousin…