6:00 a.m. Wake up. Look at clock. Remember it’s Sunday. Go back to sleep.
7:30 a.m. Wake up when Otto gets up. Go back to sleep.
8:30 a.m. Hear Otto making coffee. Get up.
8:35 a.m. COOOOOOOFFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
8:45 a.m. Put turkey breast in crock pot.
8:50 a.m. Field Chickadee’s inquisition; she is certainly not eating any of that GROSS ANIMAL in the crock for dinner, so what is she having? Is that cranberry sauce on the turkey? Did I save her any? Because she is NOT EATING CRANBERRY SAUCE THAT TOUCHED TURKEY, MOM.
8:55 a.m. I give up my sanguine replies about how I have unfailingly accommodated her choice to avoid meat for the last two and a half years and instead suggest that with just a little bit of work, she could be in full-blown eating disorder status and should let me know if I can slice her some celery to gnaw on.
9:00 a.m. Monkey—who has been vibrating with excitement for the last hour—asks if maybe I think they should start, you know, looking for something? Maybe? Just in case there’s something around?
9:01 a.m. I do my best to look contrite and say, “Oh my gosh, you guys, I totally forgot to put your baskets out last night! I guess you can take a look, anyway, but… I’m sorry.”
9:10 a.m. The house looks like a tornado hit it. Every cabinet door is open. Chickadee has been heard yelling status updates to her brother like, “Nothing in the shower!” and “Not under my bed!”
9:12 a.m. I take pity on the children and hand Monkey a can to take out to the recycling bin for me.
9:13 a.m. Monkey enters the garage. Monkey yells for his sister.
9:14 a.m. Hooray, the Easter Bunny brought a little candy and… new scooters! (It’s possible the Easter Bunny lucked out on a price mistake at Amazon a while back. Ahem.)
9:20 a.m. A couple of brave chocolate bunnies lose their butts to the miracle of the resurrection (and Mom allowing candy before breakfast).
10:00 a.m. Pancakes!
10:10 a.m. Brief discussion of how we are going to resume looking for a church, but Easter is probably not the right day to try a new church because it will be very crowded.
10:12 a.m. Prolonged discussion of how I was raised Jewish but converted to Christianity and have mostly favored Methodist churches, and Otto was raised Catholic and has mostly favored… being a recovering Catholic. Discussion of the differences between various arms of Protestantism. Discussion of the history of misogyny and racism in various sects.
10:35 a.m. Otto announces that we shall celebrate the holiday with yard work! Hooray! The children are dispatched to get dressed.
10:36 a.m. Otto explains to me that the kids can help him dig a trench in the yard for some drainage pipe he plans to put down.
10:38 a.m. I finish laughing at Otto.
10:39 a.m. Otto asks if I must mock him. I affirm that I must.
10:45 a.m. The kids ask if they can go ride their scooters around for a bit before Otto needs them. I tell Chickadee to stay with her brother and send them off.
10:47 a.m. While getting dressed, I experience a flicker of foreboding, but dismiss it because I am being overprotective and silly.
11:03 a.m. Chickadee returns to the house to report that Monkey went flying off his scooter and is probably hurt. “It’s okay, though,” she says, “because I dragged him out of the middle of the road, so probably he won’t get run over.”
11:04 a.m. Right as I’m about to ask why she didn’t stay with him, Monkey comes gliding down the driveway and throws his scooter to the ground.
11:05 a.m. The scooter is stupid. The road is stupid. He is BLEEDING and probably DYING and what is WRONG with the Easter Bunny, giving kids DEATH TRAP SCOOTERS, anyway? Does he HATE CHILDREN?
11:07 a.m. Apparently I haven’t been sympathetic enough. At least, this is what I conclude after Monkey SHRIEKS IN MY FACE, at which point what little sympathy I had dries up right quick. I sent him to his room to calm down.
11:08 – 11:15 a.m. Stomping, screaming, crying, wailing. Most of it related to how no one loves him and he is bleeding to death.
11:16 a.m. A somewhat contrite Monkey comes down to apologize for having yelled at me.
11:17 a.m. I dress the victim’s wounds. For the record, I am only able to find a single droplet of blood, though he does have a pretty interesting superficial layer of road rash.
11:30 a.m. Everyone heads outdoors to work!
11:35 a.m. Otto concedes that my puny children are going to be useless when it comes to chopping through the Georgia clay, and instead tasks them with dragging a stack of brush out into the forest.
11:37 a.m. I tether the dog out by my garden boxes, where I am weeding, prepping the soil, and otherwise planning to start Gardenpalooza 2011.
11:38 a.m. The dog cries because no one is petting her.
11:45 a.m. The children sidle up to where I’m working, hoping to get out of dragging brush. They’ll help me! Look at how helpful they are!
11:46 a.m. Monkey rips the tops off a few weeds and Chickadee unearths an anthill in one of my boxes and screams like a little girl.
11:47 a.m. The kids go back to dragging brush.
12:30 p.m. The children take a break, commenting on how hot it is and how hard they’re working. They sit on the deck steps and pet the dog. I suggest they get her some water and ask that they get some for me and Otto, too.
12:40 p.m. Everyone has some water.
12:45 p.m. Licorice manages to knock over my water cup, which goes from being half-empty to completely empty. WOE.
12:46 p.m. I mutter something about HOW FITTING it all is and suddenly the kids decide to go back to dragging brush.
1:30 p.m. I dump an entire wheelbarrow of weeds and cleared brush into the compost pile, and attempt to extract some readied compost for my boxes.
1:32 p.m. I bat my eyelashes at Otto and he takes a break from trench-digging to turn over the compost and fill the wheelbarrow for me.
1:35 p.m. I spread compost while the dog cries because no one is petting her.
2:00 p.m. My boxes are ready for the new season. I stop for some water.
2:02 p.m. The dog knocks over Otto’s water cup.
2:15 p.m. I decide to trim the side bushes.
2:20 p.m. Monkey comes out to where I’m working to report that 1) it’s hot 2) Otto is making them work too hard and 3) the dog is crying because no one is petting her.
2:30 p.m. The brush pile has been completely relocated. The children are sent inside to take showers.
3:00 p.m. I tell Otto I’m done and am going in. He has finished digging and says he’ll be in once he gets the pipe laid. I may or may not respond to this statement with, “Oh, baby.”
3:02 p.m. I take a shower.
3:10 p.m. Chickadee asks me to look at the strap on her dress, because it feels “pokey.” Her brand new dress has a broken adjustor clip, likely from being manhandled by She Who Has No Concept Of Handling Things Gently. I grumble. She reluctantly agrees to wear something else.
3:30 p.m. Otto returns, triumphant. I announce I am making mashed potatoes in his honor.
3:31 p.m. I boil potatoes.
4:05 p.m. Dinner! We thank God for the miracle of his son, and also mashed potatoes.
5:00 p.m. Balderdash!
6:00 p.m. Ice cream!
7:00 p.m. Meltdowns! Did Monkey mention that the scooter was stupid? And also that he’s decided he’s never riding the bus again? And did you know that a 13-year-old who repeatedly brings home and throws away a lovingly packed lunch may be tasked with packing her own, and might then wail and cry that she doesn’t know HOW and it’s too HARD and she is so very SORRY? It’s true!
8:00 p.m. Bedtime! Happy Easter, GO TO SLEEP NOW.
And how was your Easter?