No 5:00am wake up to hide Easter eggs before the kids get up. No giggles outside our bedroom door at 6:00am. No little voices debating who is going to be brave enough to come in and wake us up. No tentative opening of the door as they both walk into our room. No child tiptoeing over to my side of the bed, and no child tiptoeing over to the husband’s side of the bed. No pretending to be asleep to prolong their anticipation. Just silence.
What’s that? A bedroom door opens upstairs. I leap off the stool, peer up the hallway in anticipation; I am eager to wish whichever child this is a Happy Easter. This year I am the one oozing with anticipation. Too late...the bathroom door closes. That’s okay, I’ll wait. I return to my coffee and a moment or two later I hear the bathroom door open. Once again I leap off the stool, once again I peer up the hallway, and once again I am too late; whoever it was has simply returned to their room.
8:25am and the house is still silent. In years’ past, the kids would have been halfway into their chocolate bunnies by now, there would be strings of Easter basket filling all over the house, and the husband and I would be on our third round of hiding eggs. Instead, this year one of my kids is clearly up but is likely reading in bed, the other is still asleep, the husband is reading on the couch, and I am down here in the office writing this blog entry feeling sorry for myself and ready to throw myself a big ol’ fat pity party.
Having teenagers is, well, quite frankly, it’s just plain weird. On the one hand, I love having these helpful, independent people around, on the other hand, though, I hate having these helpful, independent people around. Is it too much to ask that they be independent and need me at the same time? Is it too much to ask that they still get excited over little kid holidays like Easter?
8:30am and a child finally ventures downstairs. It’s my son and, poor kid, my husband and I practically tackle him to give him a hug and wish him a Happy Easter. There are no eggs to hunt this year, though I refused to give up at least the pretense of the Easter Bunny and so there are Easter baskets, though at 14 and 16 my kids could really care less. Not that they’re not grateful, but they’re long past the age of even humoring me and pretending that they still believe. They are courteous and they give appropriate thanks, but they’re just not that into it.
I spend the rest of the day in a weird tug of war of emotions...sad that my kids are getting older, glad that they are so helpful. In getting ready for company my son mowed the lawn and my daughter helped me endlessly in the kitchen. At times like this they really do help lighten the load. But the fact that they are so capable of lighting the load makes me really feel their days here are numbered.
I’m sure I’m being melodramatic, but with each holiday tradition that we give up I feel them one step closer to leaving. I know there will come a day in the not too distant future that I will wake up on Easter Sunday and there will be no children in the house at all and I will be heartbroken. When that day comes, all I can say is that the husband better buy me an extra large chocolate bunny that year...solid too, none of that cheap hollow crap!