Sitting here thinking about this evening's events.
It appears the magic of childhood believing has died an untimely death here at our house.
It all began with me. I procrastinated a bit getting ready for the holiday.
I didn't consider that I'd get sick and spend two days in bed.
Thanks to some kid named Jack, a doubt had been placed in my son's ears.
And a husband who "thought" he had hidden the candy he'd helped to buy.
Then there's the older child who didn't think to try to preserve the myth when little brother noticed the bag in Mom's closet.
Who offhandedly mentions that the jig is up as they head to bed.
Desperate to salvage the situation, I concocted a semiplausible story.
My little guy doubtfully went along with my tale, after asking enough pointed questions to show me how smart he is.
After I tucked him in, I cried and drowned my sorrows in jelly beans and malted milk eggs.
I remembered that Easter is really not about bunnies and eggs.
It is not about my need to have my baby stay little.
It is about forgiveness.
4 hours ago