This year the task of Easter egg shopping was undertaken by Mr Wub Boo. Now I’m not saying he did it wrong, because, bless him, he was so enthusiastic about it, but he didn’t do it my way – you know, the right way!
My plan was to get the kids one little Easter egg that was combined with a toy or something practical like a mug, and maybe a few little teeny tiny eggs that could be hidden, hunted down and devoured. No I’m not a killjoy, it’s just that I have dealt with the aftermath of sugar induced highs in our kids, and believe me it’s not pretty.
Mr Wub Boo on the other hand, has been completely sheltered from seeing our kids turn into sugar-fueled-demon-spawn, because he has never been to a playgroup where some evil mother hides a chocolate fish and some lollies under the sandwich on each kids’ plate at morning tea.
Back to the moment when Mr Wub Boo proudly showed off what he’d bought, all by himself, without any adult supervision whatsoever. I was happy enough with the main eggs he had for the kids; a good combination of eggs and gift that should keep them happy for about a nanosecond. And then he pulled out this big bag of chocolate eggs for the hunt.
“There’s twenty eggs in this bag,” I exclaimed.
“Yeah it’s great isn’t it? They’ll have so much fun looking for all these eggs,” he replied with a big goofy grin on his face.
“Yes but then they’ll want to eat them all.”
“No worries, we can deal with a bit of hyperactivity one day a year,” he said.
“Why yes of course dear, how silly of me.”
Cue forward to the big day. I’d been using the old “I’ll phone the Easter bunny and tell him not to come here unless you behave” trick all week. Bedtime had gone very smoothly the night before for a change, as they proved they could be really, really good for the Easter Bunny. If only they could be really, really good for their mum!
At 5.10am it all got too much and Miss 2 padded into our room. Attempts to get her to cuddle daddy and go back to sleep failed completely, and with Master 3 awake too, I gave in and let them get up.
By 5.30am a small egg had been consumed by each of my munchkins. At 5.45am Miss 2 had her first meltdown. At 6.20am Master 3 had his first meltdown. At 6.40am Miss 2 had her first tantrum.
6.55am – time for a bourbon?
Ha, I wish. We still had the egg hunt to get through, and then the resultant tantrums when most of the eggs were
taken off them again for “later”.
Sadly, my kids don’t get hyperactive when they’re overloaded with sugar. Well that’s a lie, Master 3 was hyperactive for approximately five minutes. No, my kids get cantankerous, whiney and violent towards each other. World War 3 was narrowly averted in our house when Master 3 did something that annoyed Miss 2 (like look at her), resulting in her taking a swing at him with a saucepan that she had liberated from the kitchen. He retaliated by grabbing her favourite dolly and throwing it out the window. The screams, tantrums and retribution continued all morning, so I did what any self-respecting parent would do; I rang the Easter Bunny and asked him to take back all the Easter eggs.
Then he hung up.