Easter Smeaster

We have an Easter tradition: We do the egg hunt, go to mass, enjoy a leisurely brunch, start making the turkey dinner, play a bit of football in the front yard and watch something on TV after will fill ourselves with turkey, gravy, potatoes and pie. Seems idyllic really.

What really happened:

We slept too late but still decided to watch a rerun of SNL. We rush the hunt, eat chocolate for breakfast while screaming at the kids to brush their teeth before church.

OMG – did the priest just do a racist joke? He said ‘there was money on the line so the Jewish boy put up his hand.” I felt a slight burning sensation when I expelled a nervous giggle. It is wrong not to laugh at the priest’s joke, right?

We leave mass early to get to brunch. Bitch about how much brunch costs and monitor the kids meals to ensure they are eating the expensive stuff. More roast beef damn it!

We laugh at the lame Easter Bunny who does nothing but torment young children to tears while his handler appeases with chocolate (super smart to feed chocolate to kids with anxiety attacks – mascot 101).

We rest until we have enough room for seconds, thirds and dessert. We send the kids to the buffet to pilfer the chocolate Easter eggs to fill my purse and ensure we are getting at least some of our money back in chocolate.

We bitch about the bill again and wonder why this has been a tradition for the last 13 years. We put in our calendar to book the same time for next year because ‘the timing was perfect’.

We decide to walk some of brunch off by putting the leash on the dog and settling into the couch to watch Forrest Gump. Dog befuddled. We eat more chocolate.

We play Wii, and I didn’t win (and truthfully didn’t even come close). I sulk.

Crap, I need to put the bird in. If I put it in at 500 degrees, will it be done faster thereby retaining its moisture? Pie idea scrapped in favour of reducing chocolate inventory.

Front lawn football starts. Tears commence. Football ends.

Couch sitting/napping/ignoring the family portion of the afternoon starts. It is about 5pm and bird is about 7 hours from done. Why did I wait until the last minute to buy a bird? I literally got the last one and it is 8kg.

Cheater gravy started… bit of chocolate fell in from ‘my appetizer’ so it will be extra special tonight.

Can of cranberry opened. Perfect can marks. Proud of that one.

Outside edges of turkey done enough to serve – remainder stays in oven for the duration of dinner (thought that this might be bad. Thought forgotten when a glass of wine appears). Dinner at 8. Bed at 8.45. TV plan scrapped. Take dog leash off. Chocolate comma commences.

Sounds normal. Happy Easter!