>The Weekend in (What is Probably Way Too Many) Pictures

>We’re at the first of three Easter Egg hunts we’ll attend this weekend. Held in a neighborhood city park, it includes prize eggs with tape on them, containing tags that can be redeemed afterward for toys. TOYS!

As we wait for the hunt to begin, I spot one of the prize eggs about ten feet from where we’re standing. I point it out to Punky. “Okay, Punky, if you get that green egg, you get a toy. So go straight to it when the whistle blows. Don’t stop at the other eggs. Go straight to the green one, okay? Are we clear?” She nods. “Are you sure?” She nods. “The green egg. Go right to the GREEN. EGG.” She nods. The whistle blows.

Punky runs out onto the lawn. “Get the green egg!” I scream. Parents turn to stare at me.

“Punky! The green egg! THE GREEN EGG!” She turns and looks at me, baffled, as if I hadn’t just coached her for the last five minutes on precisely what she was to do when the whistle blew. “FOR GOD’S SAKE! Don’t just stand there! Get! that! GREEN!! EGG!!!“

Confused, Punky begins picking up the eggs at her feet. A five-year-old girl beside her looks back at me, grins, then heads right for the green egg and picks it up. I see red for a split second before the parenting experts kick in in my head.

“Good try, Punky!” I shout in a strangled tone. “You’re doing great! Just keep picking up those eggs!” I do, however, manage to step on the toe of that ridiculous five-year-old’s mother. Stupid biddy. She’s wearing Burberry heels and a matching bag and chats on her cell phone. She totally did not need that egg. Not like we did! She grimaces and shoots me a dirty look and I remember suddenly that Christ died for our sins. I smile sweetly at her in return. It is Easter, after all, so I’ll forgive her. This time.

We move on to another Easter event at Cheekwood (more on those shenanigans here), where an oversized bunny is posing for pictures. Punky doesn’t want to stand beside the gigantic hare, but when she realizes Bugs is carrying candy in her basket, she’s lured in like a governor to the Emperor’s Club.

Meanwhile, Bruiser does…. nothing. I mean, he’s one. What did you expect?

Later on, it’s just another wild and crazy Saturday night at the Ferrier house. Punky refuses to go to bed until I tell her that the Easter Bunny can’t come and leave presents until she goes to sleep. After that, she quickly brushes her teeth and puts on her pajamas. As I’m tucking her in, I feel all tender and cuddly. “Punky,” I say softly, “You’re the most beautiful, most brilliant, most wonderful girl in all the-“

“Okay mommy,” she interrupts. “But I think we need to all go to bed and close our eyes right now.” So much for sentiment.

The next morning, the Bunny has made an appearance! Easter toys and candy are everywhere!

Even Baby Bruiser is thrilled by what the rabbit has left him!

Well, most of what the rabbit has left him.

That afternoon, Punky and Bruiser get dressed in their Easter finest (provided by Grandma. Do you really think I would ever have the wherewithal to both purchase matching outfits and have them monogrammed? That is completely beyond my domestic security clearance.) and head to the crib for their daily Ball Party. Invented by Hubs, it involves putting every ball in the house into the crib with them and letting them have at it for a good thirty minutes. As you can imagine we all love the daily Ball Party.

Unfortunately, I forgot to take the Vodka bottle out of the crib before I put them in. It took a while for things to get back to normal.

Punky could almost walk in a straight line by the time our second annual cul-de-sac Easter Egg Hunt rolled around. It’s really brilliant; we close off the street and let the kids hunt eggs in every yard while the parents get liquored up and chat about stay-at-home dads (“Didn’t you write about that, Lindsay?”), boys who like girly things (“Didn’t you write about that, Lindsay?”), and the guy in our neighborhood who, uh, allegedly broke into a neighboring house in the middle of the day, while a woman and kids were inside (“Didn’t you…” “No, but I will!”) Okay, that was weird. That little alleged home invasion been the talk of the subdivision ever since.

Meanwhile, Punky and Bruiser chilled with their homies. That kid on the left may look innocent, but he was a total candy burglar. He kept reaching into Punky’s basket and taking her candy until I shooed him off. “Dude, get your own candy,” I said. “Don’t come back here without your basket, mkay?”

Once that was cleared up, I joined the adults for more gossip. I was pouring my somethingth glass of wine when my neighbor said, “Don’t you have to go to church after this, Lindsay?”

I held it up and said, “Duh, this is communion!”

And on that note, I hope you all had a wonderful holiday weekend.