The bunny and I don't click.

The Easter Bunny is pretty laughable, don't you think? I mean, I never really hopped on that imaginary trail when I was a kid(pun intended). Okay, maybe when I was a very little kid. But for the most part, I was just there for the chocolate (sorry to break it to ya, Mom and Dad).

Honestly, the idea that some freak of nature bunny was doe-dee-doe-ing around my house, dropping eggs, jellybeans and chocolate for the taking was just not all that believable.

After all, he had no special gimmick to impress my socks off. No flying sleigh. No "superhero" way into my chimneyless house. Sheesh, he didn't even need me to lay out some stinkin' carrots the way the bearded man needed those cookies. All in all, that rabbit tail tale just didn't score big points with me though I wasn't about to let on, lest my stash of baskety sugar be discontinued.

And I'm not a fan of those ridiculous egg hunts either. Seriously, those parents kids go crazy. I remember going on an egg hunt when I was little and feeling completely frustrated because I couldn't find them as fast as other kids. Not necessarily great fun if you come out looking like Charlie Brown after he's been trick-or-treating ("I got a rock.") And because my egg hunt experiences were a bust, I swore I would avoid them with my own kids. And for the most part, I have. Well, except for that one year.....

When Olivia was around 2½, I had a brain cloud and decided we should go. She even had a fleece bunny suit so I went all out and dressed her in it. Off we went to the local park for the egg hunt. And hey, just because I had a terrible experience didn't mean she would, right? Okay! So we arrived and there are quite a few parents there. Like, oh say, 300? Uh oh.

They divided the kids into three groups; toddlers, preschoolers, and elementary. I was standing at the edge of the concrete slab that made up the floor of the pavilion we were under (it was sunny and around 65º and Liv was already beet red in her fleece suit). Fortunate person that I am, the guy with the mic told everyone to line up on that very edge. Line up??? We have to line up? Just what kind of egg hunt is this going to be?

My mind began a race of its own, taking inventory like a salesman at a car dealership.
Do we really have to race to get the eggs?
Why is there a need to get on a starting line?
How did I find myself at the front of it?
Why is that dad lunging forward, both hands on his front knee, in the official starting position?
Why is grandma coaching (yes COACHING) little Jimmy to "run fast and hard as soon as you hear the foghorn"?
Foghorn? This hunt needs a foghorn? Dear me, I'm stuck in a bad drea.........

TOOOOOOOOOT!!!!!!!!!!!!

The foghorn sounded and I took off like a bat out of (hey, I didn't pen those lyrics; Meatloaf did). I was throwing "bows" (elbows, that is) like there was no tomorrow. Blue grocery bag over one arm (because a basket might have added drag to our sprint) and "sweat bunny" preschooler in the other.
"There, Liv. Get it. GET it. Geeeeeeet it!"
"Over there. Quick. Dive NOW!!!"
"Run! Grab it. GET. THAT. EGG."

I tell you I lost my stinkin' mind out there. My 2 foot tall bunny was haulin' tail (literally) all through the bushes to get her "fair share." She wasn't comin' out empty handed like me. Ut uh, not my kid.

And then,.....
As quickly as it had begun it was over. And I had behaved miserably. And my kid had cashed in at least 6 "prize tickets" from plastic eggs found during the hunt. And at 2 years old, she had to learn a lesson about grownups behaving badly sharing with others who have less than you, as she handed out some of her prizes to kids who had none. I was completely humiliated. I had bought in to the madness, hook, line and sinker. In a split second decision, I allowed myself to get swept up in a ridiculous race for something quite insignificant. And it left me feeling no better about Easter egg hunts than when I was a kid.

Never again. Sure, we might have a fun little hunt with cousin Colin when visiting my parents. Or just our family here at home. But otherwise I'm done. It's supposed to be about the kids having fun but it just doesn't play out that way (sigh).

Then yesterday we took the kids to have their picture taken with the bunny. It was held in a bubble dome outside at one of the "city" malls that are now being built around the country. The sun was beating down on the clear panels so that the inside temperature was akin to a greenhouse in July. That bunny was not happy. How could we tell? Well for one, he didn't move. I mean, not a hair (pun intended). My Reece was trying to get in tighter for the shot and bunny wouldn't even move his big fake rabbit foot.
"Reece, don't step on the bunny's foot.
Be careful.
Oh (realizing bunny was semi-comatose).
Okay then, I guess you'll have to do your best to step over it."

Another clue came when we forgot to reclaim our baby. Nice. (We were busy looking at the photos on the computer screen; at least you can see we have our priorities in order.) Bunny never flinched. He just sat there and waited like a statue for our return. He wasn't about to do anything that might have raised his body temperature a nano-degree. Yes, I'm certain he was just trying to maintain consciousness in the Swelter Dome. And I imagine he wasn't thinking lovely thoughts of me when I decided that none of the first three shots taken were acceptable. I suppose he might have even wanted to rough me up if he could have gotten away with it.


So, the bunny and I, we have our issues. I'm going to leave it at giving the kids a basket and placing all our emphasis on the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Now, there is a "larger than life" account worth hearing about. As for me and the bunny? Oh,I do fully intend to "enjoy" him, one chocolaty bite at a time (some things never change).

And a race worth running?I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Philippeans 3:14