Easter is just around the corner. I have friends that love Easter just about as much as they love Christmas. I am the polar opposite. I respect, enjoy and celebrate the religious meaning of Easter and all that it symbolizes… but I truly could do without the expensive Easter baskets full of sugary treats, the plastic toys (that only end up getting stepped on), the green Easter basket grass that can’t be vacuumed up (yet clings to everything) and the one random, colored egg that isn’t found until you open the fireplace for its seasonal debut. Oh, and did I mention that I abhor all of the decorating with pastel colors? Maybe it’s a reflection of my bold, outgoing personality but I love rich colors… pastels, not so much.

I loved Easter as a child and even as an adult, so I’m trying to pinpoint when I first started to dislike Easter. I guess it all started when Kevin was three years old and Eric (aka Rocky) was a baby. I was so excited about taking both of my adorable boys to the mall to have their photo with the Easter Bunny. For some reason the central part of the mall was under renovations that year and a trail of signs lead to the Easter Bunny’s new location in a vacant store.

As we entered through the one available door (both an entrance and an exit), I was relieved that there was no line. We were quickly greeted by one of the four assistants to the Easter Bunny. I smiled as I unbuckled Rocky from the stroller and grabbed Kevin’s hand explaining that they were going to get to meet the Easter Bunny and have their picture taken.

Kevin was so excited he climbed up the two steps that lead to the top of a small platform and sat right on the Easter Bunny’s left leg. That was easy, I thought, as I placed Rocky on the Easter Bunny’s opposite leg and moved out of the way for the photographer. As parents, we understand that with children there is only a small window of opportunity for a good photo. As parents, we also understand (but won’t openly admit) how badly we want this picture of our children to be perfect.

From where I stood on the floor, behind and to the left of the photographer, I could just tell that this was going to be one of those moments… one of those perfectly adorable shots. I secretly smiled my “victory” smile and held my breath as the photographer readied the camera. Hurry up I thought. Then I noticed Kevin looking down at the bunny’s feet, then up at his face and back down at his feet. Oh, please look at the camera, please smile, as I willed Kevin to remain still.

As the camera clicked, signaling the photo was taken, Kevin stood up and began yelling… “Wait a minute, you’re not the Easter Bunny – you’re a people!!!”

“I can see your ankles!” Kevin announced, while pointing at the exposed flesh showing from the gap in the material between the leg of the bunny’s costume and the beginning of the bunny’s feet.

“And I can see your eyes!” Kevin continued as he pointed at the bunny’s massive head and the human eyes visible behind the mask.

“You’re a people! You’re not the Easter Bunny!” Kevin bellowed, turning to address the people working there, as if they didn’t already know.

Rocky began to cry. I ran to retrieve him as I grabbed Kevin’s hand and pulled him off of the small platform. I glanced around nervously and noticed that a line was starting to form. I quickly approached the cashier and fumbled for my wallet.`

“He’s a people! He’s a people!” Kevin yelled.

“Kevin, that’s enough!” I said, “Please lower your voice.”

I grabbed my not so “perfect” Easter photo and managed to mutter an embarrassed “Thank you” to the staff as I strapped the baby in the stroller with one hand while holding onto the hand of  a flailing Kevin.

“He’s not the Easter Bunny! He’s a people!” Kevin yelled repeatedly, on a mission to blow the Easter Bunny’s cover and spread the word.

I kept my head down, only glancing up briefly as I headed towards the door. I had no choice but to pass the waiting crowd of parents and children in line to meet the Easter Bunny. The children looked confused and frightened. If the dirty looks that I was getting from the parents were any indication, they were pissed.

Needless to say, that was our last official visit to see the Easter Bunny and quite likely the beginning of my dislike of the Easter Holiday.

And if you think that was a funny yet embarrassing situation, wait until you read what happens in my next Easter post.  (Part 2)