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Browsing Tag: Easter

Nine Years

On Easter Sunday we marked the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death (pancreatic cancer doesn’t spare the loving). We joined the family for Easter mass, as always, and we had Easter dinner, as always. The day was filled with its own dramas, its own troubles big and small, as they so often pop up, holiday or not. My brother and I talked about it briefly when he called from the home he shares with his wife in Wisconsin. Something about the symbolism of the Easter anniversary. The depressing aspect that yep, Dad’s still dead (because despite nine years you still wonder sometimes if it’s just a bad dream you’ve yet to shake off). Jesus is risen, but Dad’s still gone. David’s dad’s anniversary was a couple weeks ago (I’ve said it before: April is super fun around here), and we hadn’t commemorated it “officially”–between David’s travels for work, and then life, it hadn’t happened. Yesterday we remembered Dad and Tom with a quick toast and moved on to the ham, because what…

Not Exactly What They Mean by ‘Mic Drop’

The kids are making Easter cards for their grandmothers right now while I clean (and by clean, I mean excavate the house from the inches of dust and dirt and clutter that accumulated while I was avoiding cleaning). Quinlan saw me mopping the floor and asked to help. I, being the good, patient mother that I am, told her that she’d have to help me another time, because I needed to get the chore done quickly (aaaaaand today will mark the day when Quinlan’s love of helping and mastering tasks dies like a spurned grape on the vine of independence. Win one for her future therapist). She grumbled when I told her this, her pout sticking out, her hands dropping the crayons she’d been holding so she could cradle her head in them. “I’m having the worst day ever,” she said, and stared at the construction paper in front of her. I huffed over my mop, trying to scrub out a stain that might have been there since last Easter. “Actually,” I said–and hereby marks the day that Quinlan also lost her trust in faith, in…

I’m Still Mad About the Cadbury Eggs, Though

The evidence was everywhere, carnage of a sugar rush gone mad, access to all the vices in life consumed at once. It was like Eve not only biting into the apple, but running around Eden with it on the sly, scattering bits and pieces, leaving teeth marks in all the good apples somebody else could have eaten (AHEM), tucking the fruit into hiding spaces so she could go back and get some more, later, when Adam and God weren’t looking. Except this was no Eve. This was Cian, after Easter. And Cian, unlike his sisters, could give Eve a run for her money. The foil started appearing everywhere, starting the day after Easter Sunday. Little crumpled bits of pink in the couch. A flattened wedge of pastel blue on the playroom table. There was a half-eaten milk chocolate egg, wrapper still partly intact, on the floor behind a chair leg. I noticed a smear of something dark on a couch, swabbed at it with a wet cloth, wondered which child had forgotten to wash her hands after playing outside. Then, I noticed the teeth marks in a chocolate bunny, then another. The smudge of brown on Cian…