Cloudy With a Chance of Heartbreak

I didn’t say a lot about Easter or post adorable pictures of my kids in their frocks because a) My Resurrection Reflections mainly consisted on how glad you should be I’m not God considering I would have obliterated everyone who spit on/mocked/disbelieved my son and b) we didn’t buy new Easter clothes this year. Regarding A: God has clearly upped me in the mercy department and you really didn’t need a melancholic reminder of that fact. Regarding B: We are being total cheapskates in anticipation of having to make a house payment in the near future.

In addition to not buying special occasion clothing, I’ve also said goodbye to my solar nails and Luke insists we not turn on the lights in the house as long as the sun is shining. It’s like we are the Ingalls’ but I have no cooking skillz for Pa to farm out to the Olsen’s hotel for extra cash. I’m not complaining though lest he take away my Wi-fi and we all know I’d sooner give up Charmin than my connection to my imaginary friends.

That reminds me, Laura once had a friend with whom she communicated by sending a message in a bottle down the creek.  Same concept. Totally.

So that I record at least one Easter memory, the Girl had an egg hunt with her class at school. Luke and Robbie (another dad and fellow church dude) were charged with hiding the plastic, candy-filled eggs. They were very enthusiastic about the job and from the looks of things alternatively tossed handfuls straight up in to the air to let them fall in plain sight or hid them so thoroughly a trained drug dog – or refined sugar dog in this case – couldn’t have found them.  (And I do mean refined as in sugar, not the dog.  Though a refined dog couldn’t have found them either.)  There were two prize eggs with money inside.

We turned the kids loose and I walked beside the Girl to help her look. I pointed one out to her that was hidden in a drainage pipe that easily could have doubled as a home for a sewer rat.  Somehow she pulled it out without contracting the bubonic plague and behold! It was a prize egg! I was thoroughly embarrassed because if your kid finding the prize egg that her dad hid doesn’t scream rigged I don’t know what does. Well, yes I do. The other parents who were screaming ‘Rigged!’ said it just fine.

This one didn’t care. She took her $3 and slept soundly that night.

As if the prize egg weren’t enough, Girl happened to see someone selling rabbits for $10 that afternoon at a marketplace we lovingly referred to as The Four-Way. For all of you city folk, this would be the one four-way intersection in our teeny town. She coaxed Luke to stop and then batted those eyes at him in that way that renders her father helpless.  Don’t worry, he’ll make up for spending the cash on her by taking something away from me.  It’s a mother’s sacrifice.   She later told me, “Mommy, I knew when I saw Daddy reaching for his wallet that he was going to buy me that rabbit to make me happy.” Geesh. They really are sickening.

So, meet Cloudy Socks McKay. As far as pets go, Socks is pretty low maintenance. And you’ll notice we’ve chosen a gender neutral name so we don’t end up with another boy named Nancy. I try not to think about that because Nancy’s rescue didn’t work out so much for us. Or him. (He went missing.  We never learned his fate.) Let’s pray Socks fares better than that. However, don’t count on it. Based on our track record, Socks became an endangered species from the moment Girl chose him (her?) at the Four Way.

So I’m interested in knowing, are there any other rabbit owners out there? Any tips for us?

Socks is pleading.

“Help. Me.”

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