In which I explain about the gorilla . . .

The kids first Egg Hunt on Sunday was fun.  It wasn’t a hunt as much as a Pick-up, but that suited everyone just fine.

As I mentioned in the comments, Jane’s method was to run as fast as she could to the far end of the field and gather up everything before the others made it halfway:

Sunny’s method depended more on wielding a judicious amount of adorable helplessness on an unsuspecting mark:

They disappeared with their bounty afterward and I later found them both behind the altar in a drift of wrappers— the young chocoholics version of claiming sanctuary.  Only when I expressed joy that I would be able to keep whatever the Easter Bunny might have brought to the house did my progeny voluntarily come forth.

The Easter Bunny was far more generous than I had anticipated.  My husband is an atheist, but apparently has a soft spot for commercial mutations of ancient religious remnants—as long as jellybeans and Reese’s peanut butter eggs are involved.

After lunch, which was brief and sparsely attended, my husband took the kids to their second Easter Egg Hunt—I had taken the precaution of falling asleep right after doing the dishes.*

They came home with much chocolate and marshmallow Peepage . . . and this:

He was meant to be the prize for collecting the most eggs, but the winner was terrified of him, as was the runner up.  My kids, who fell in love on sight, won him by default.   He’s larger than Sunny and somewhat heavier.

His name is Banana.

At least he’s not made of chocolate . . .


*Jane wanted some computer time, so I stretched out with a notebook and a pen and was soon dreaming about the Easter Bunny headlining in Vegas.  I should have known better.