hard-boiled jesus

i love easter: the eggs, the candy. it's nice to forget our cholesterol and refined sugar worries, even if only for the day. it's also one of the few times i accept children with holiday bows in their hair. you know the sort-- gigantic badly ebay-ed "big love" bows.

i hated church, even as a child, however, easter sunday was different; pretty new dresses always had the ability to soften those hard pews. although, perhaps the fidgeting was intentional on this day, to draw attention to the new dress. god, being an only girl in a world of boys was never easy. they just couldn't appreciate starched lace and kid gloves, like the blue-haired that sat behind us.

this year, the only new easter dress i saw was on my niece, as she and her twin brother took part in an easter egg hunt at my parents house. i was given the task of helping hannah with the eggs she couldn't reach. she was ecstatic each time she spotted an egg, screaming at the top of her red-headed lungs, "EASTERRRRR EGGS for hannah" (she always has to assign things as hers to avoid sharing with her brother). she spotted an egg behind a little jesus picture my mom has on her piano (mormon paraphernalia), as i lifted her to grab it i could see the confusion on her little face. "auntie sarah, it's jesus eggs?" this was the defining moment of my weekend; do i remind her they are easter eggs or do i encourage jesus egg talk, knowing well my mom will be slightly annoyed.

i don't think i need to explain the route i took. hello, lightening!