The Easter Bunny Doesn’t Visit Anymore

Since my son was 1-year-old, I have loved setting up his surprises every Easter morning. The first year it was a dancing and singing bunny and 6 eggs with soft candies and cookies. His favorite part of the basket was the green plastic grass, which he spread all over the house. I still smile when I think of him screaming with delight and throwing the green grass in the air.

Fortunately, the next year he stopped throwing the grass and enjoyed the candy in the eggs. In addition to his singing bunny, he received Spiderman action figures. And, he danced around the room singing with Spiderman.

Our most fun year was when the movie Hop was in theaters. We built an E.B. at Build-A-Bear Workshop. I placed E.B. on the dining room table with piles of jelly beans around the house for his poop. My son squealed when he saw all of the piles of jelly jean poop. Thus, began a new tradition. Every year since, I have made piles of jelly bean poop around the house from the Easter Bunny.

So, when he told me this year that he knew that I have been leaving the jelly bean poop piles, I was crushed. I thought that I might have one more year of fun before he figured out what I was doing. But, he did thank me for all of the fun over the years and appreciated that we were trying to make Easter special for him. When did your children figure out about the Easter Bunny?


Cautionary Tale

My life as an evil mastermind started off quite innocently at the playground one day.  “I’m Spiderman and you are Rhino,” my son said.  “Come and get me,” he shouted, running behind the climbing structure.  With a half-hearted Rhino roar, I chased him.  He screamed, “I got you.  You are tied up in my webs.”  Then, he squealed, “again, again!”  With each performance, I became more and more convincing as the Rhino.  Soon I was stomping and charging like a seasoned evil villain.  “I am just playing with my son,” I told myself.  “This is harmless,” I insisted.

But, before I knew it, I had moved onto gateway villains such as Sandman, Electro and Doctor Octopus.  I thought that I could handle it.  I told everyone, “I can stop at any time.”  I couldn’t see how I was beginning to change.  Spending hours studying the villains and learning their ways, I mastered their evil laughs and moves.

My downward spiral into the abyss of evil mastermind accelerated on a Superhero Saturday at my house.  In order for my son and his friend to play superheroes, I had to become many evil villains at one time.  I was Joker and Penguin tying up Batman over a pool of sharks.  Then, I was Dr. Octopus crushing Superman.  “Help!” yelled Wonder Woman tied with her golden lasso to the railroad tracks.  Sending an out of control train to cut her in half, I laughed “Hee, Hee, Hee.”

On evil overload, I was a dozen villains that day.  When it was over, I started planning my next battle with the Superheroes.  “This time I will win,” I exclaimed.  “Wah, Ha, Ha!”  My family humored me thinking that this would be the end of my life as an evil mastermind.

However, it was only the beginning.   I no longer studied evil villains.  I created them.  First, I became the Evil Easter Bunny throwing candy bombs at children.  When that wasn’t evil enough, I invented Rat Woman.  I was a bad ass villain starting a rat fight with Cat Woman.  The fight ended with “<chomp!> <chomp!><burp!>, tasty,” I said “<cough!>, <cough!>…hairball.”  What do you expect?  I’m a rat.

It was finally time for an intervention.  “Mom, we want to let you know that we love you,” they said.  “We have enjoyed playing with you in the past,” they continued.  “But, it has gotten out of hand!  You are out of control.”

Stunned by their revelations at first, I sat quietly listening.  “No, I didn’t do that,” I protested.  “Yes, you did!” my son firmly replied.  “And, you are getting worse.  We are afraid of what you will think of next.”

When I could no longer deny my obsession with evil villains, I had to admit that I was powerless over evil villains and my life was unmanageable.  Rehab was brutal.  They made me go cold turkey, which meant I wasn’t allowed to play any of the evil turkeys from Free Birds.  They let me eat all the candy I wanted to reduce my craving for Craven, but I was not allowed near the TV room with the Xbox.  How many nights did I pace outside that room shaking, sweating and watching the others play?  “Phew!  I am glad that’s over!”