Easter Bunny is a Sadist
I grew up having a love/hate relationship with Easter (kinda like Jesus). My family was not particularly religious (as evidenced by my previous comment), so the day was really all about the chocolate.
Unfortunately, I was allergic to all things cocoa as a child (I know!) and my Easter loot was limited to a token white chocolate bunny and some brown chocolate eggs that gave me hives (I know!). Overall, the day was a bit of a bust* and I vowed to make Easter a holiday to remember for my kids. Then I had them.
My son spent his early years at the mercy of my nutbar-first-time-mother ways, which included kelp chips, Tofurutti cones and wheat thin crackers that I referred to as “cookies.” Regrettably, holidays offered him little respite.
When he was three-years-old my son figured out what the Easter Bunny was all about. For the first time, he gathered up the plastic eggs that I’d painstakingly hidden in plain sight. My husband was ready with the camera to capture the moment that our firstborn opened his first Easter egg to reveal…a dried apricot.
The look on my son’s face was one of befuddlement. My husband’s expression was more of the “WTF?” variety. The apricot was quickly discarded for the next treasure: a strawberry. Yet another egg revealed a handful of raisins. The theme was obvious and the Serb was not impressed.
“You’re giving him fruit?” he asked. “For Easter?” Even a small-town Serb who’d grown up half-Orthodox, half-Communist knew this was an epic Easter fail.
“It’s a healthy alternative to chocolate,” I offered.
“It’s lame,” he replied. “He’s gonna think the Easter Bunny’s mad at him.”
My son toddled around munching on his holiday trail mix, oblivious to the affront. Luckily for everyone, our karma came later that day in the form of my husband’s cousin, who just happened to work for Cadbury (I know!).
We carted home buckets of chocolate and my son was able to try some for the very first time. We captured the moment on video and it’s like watching Trainspotting meets The Wiggles.
As often happens, my daughter benefitted greatly from me using my son as a guinea pig. By the time she showed up, I’d pulled my head out of my ass and loosened the sugar embargo. Her second word was “candy” (first word: “gimme”).
* I know what you’re thinking: what about Halloween? I usually got stuck with Twizzlers and Rockets, but would inevitably start scarfing WigWags and then walk around for a week looking like Fat Bastard from Austin Powers.