For years and years, Easter was a major production. It involved new dresses, hats, an egg hunt (or stealthily hiding them), gnawing on Redstone bunnies, and permission to eat as much junk food as you wanted, because it was Easter. When you are 7, this is the shiznitz. Many moons later, things have changed.
It was family uniform to wear black pants and festive shirt. Last night we still dyed eggs and decorated cookies, but now the eggs are crazy colored with the occasional snark scrawled in wax. Found out that a couple Easters ago, the Fashionista ran over the Easter bunny. Well, a bunny, on Easter. The St. Joseph statue in Mom's garden has been decapitated, and I got really excited by coffee and soy crisps in my Easter bag (no more baskets).
The big transition bummer - no Cadbury eggs, which I look forward to for the whole year. Maybe in addition to the cheesesteak I want to pack for dinner (never been a fan of the Easter ham), I can swing by the CVS and pick up some eggs.
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