We started the week with an Easter playdate, and the first of five egg hunts of the week.
We went to an Easter party with playgroup, for which I have no pictures.
We colored eggs.
I attempted to make molded lollipops. I learned a lot, most of which I will probably forget by the time these molds make their appearance next year. These belonged to my mother-in-law’s mother, so I am to protect them with my life.
Easter Round 1 with my in-laws. We were taking pictures on three cameras this week, and this appears to be the only picture on my computer from this day. Lucky you! This would be egg hunt #3, followed by their first round of Easter baskets. They each received THREE on this day alone.
The Easter Bunny came, but he had to hide things in the kitchen, while a certain boy-child delayed bedtime.
The kids woke up and we hunted for eggs in the backyard. The husband and I were hopping around and rushing them a bit because it was COLD. (California cold. Shut up.) Yesterday we found four previously undiscovered eggs. Which reminds me: I would SWEAR that my mom hid the eggs that we had dyed. Real, hardboiled eggs. People look at me in horror when I mention this, but thanks to the magic of the internet, I have discovered that I am not alone. Childhood redeemed!
Easter baskets, Round #2.
A new love of Legos was born.
Followed by fun with the grandparents. It would appear that Easter baskets, Round #3 did not make it to the computer. Trust that the kids were spoiled per usual. (Mama was spoiled too. I’ve been putting my pretty new Vitamix to work for the past two days.)
And then there was this. I love my children equally. I think Bub is hilarious and so sweet and smart and just my favorite little boy. But there is one area where things are a touch unequal, and that is my love for my daughter’s clothes. This dress is almost too much for me to even handle. My mom saw this dress last year, and fell in love with it, but deemed it too expensive for a little girl’s dress. (That, my friends, is saying something if you know my mother.) So, my dad went back to the store the next day, found the dress and came home with it. A year later, here it is.
It was a great week, and I got so used to having my husband home for the week, that when Bubette woke up calling for him this morning, it took more than a minute or two for me to realize why he wasn’t going to her. (I spent another several minutes feeling guilty that he had already been at work for an hour at that point.)
Our cabinets are bursting with candy, and toy shelves are overflowing with new things to ease our transition back into the real world. (Bub: What do you MEAN I can’t go swimming right NOW? You keep saying no, but I want to go!)