Baby Dog’s First Visit from the Easter Rabbit. Not.
It’s been a while since I had to think about these Christian/capitalist holidays, but if I remember correctly, the one this past weekend has something to do with a rabbit nailing Jesus to a chocolate cross. Or was it a duck? Anyway, Mama Dog has fond memories of waking up on Easter Sunday to find a basket of goodies left behind by the Jesus Rodent. She wanted Baby Dog to have similar memories in her dotage, so we resolved to put together a splendid basket for Baby Dog’s First Easter When She Has a Vague Idea What’s Going On. The daycare helped give us a leg up; they sent all the children home with little Easter baskets on Thursday. It contained little plastic eggs filled with candy that we wouldn’t dream of feeding our child but would be happy to consume ourselves. Mama Dog reckoned we could fill the eggs up with stuff we would let Baby Dog have, top the thing off with relevant stuffed animals she already owns – Bunny Rabbit and Ducky, e.g. – and call that an Easter basket. Yes, I know, it sounded as lame and half-assed to us as it does to you, but the girl’s not even two yet. She would have thought the basket in and of itself was something new and enthralling.
Yes, note the conditional there. “Would have.” We managed to be even lamer and even less fully assed.
Saturday night, Mama Dog said to me, “Remind me to put together a basket before Baby Dog wakes up in the morning.” “Okay,” I said in that way I do, “remember to put together a basket before Baby Dog wakes up in the morning.” We said ha ha and then watched the rest of The Decline of the American Empire. When we were done it was past our bedtimes and neither of us felt like doing any work. “What about the basket?” I asked. “I’ll do it in the morning before she wakes up,” Mama Dog said. We slunk off to bed.
That was the night that Baby Dog’s cough erupted and kept us awake from three a.m. on. Ironically, the one whose sleep was least affected turned out to be Baby Dog. She was up and raring to go at six. As you may recall, Halmonie came over and let us sleep in. When we dragged our bums out of bed at nine, Baby Dog was already three hours into Easter Sunday with no bunny basket in sight.
Moving at the speed of rationalisation, we agreed that she doesn’t really have a clue about Easter this year and that next year’s going to be the first one she’ll have any memory of. Stay tuned this winter to see how badly we botch Christmas.
Yes, note the conditional there. “Would have.” We managed to be even lamer and even less fully assed.
Saturday night, Mama Dog said to me, “Remind me to put together a basket before Baby Dog wakes up in the morning.” “Okay,” I said in that way I do, “remember to put together a basket before Baby Dog wakes up in the morning.” We said ha ha and then watched the rest of The Decline of the American Empire. When we were done it was past our bedtimes and neither of us felt like doing any work. “What about the basket?” I asked. “I’ll do it in the morning before she wakes up,” Mama Dog said. We slunk off to bed.
That was the night that Baby Dog’s cough erupted and kept us awake from three a.m. on. Ironically, the one whose sleep was least affected turned out to be Baby Dog. She was up and raring to go at six. As you may recall, Halmonie came over and let us sleep in. When we dragged our bums out of bed at nine, Baby Dog was already three hours into Easter Sunday with no bunny basket in sight.
Moving at the speed of rationalisation, we agreed that she doesn’t really have a clue about Easter this year and that next year’s going to be the first one she’ll have any memory of. Stay tuned this winter to see how badly we botch Christmas.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:30 PM
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