Did you have the Easter Bunny when you were a child? We didn’t. We always got an Easter egg each, and I think (though I may be wrong) they were left at the end of the bed, but they were always from our parents.
The first time I heard that the Easter Bunny was a thing was when my eldest was in pre-school. And when we put an egg at the end of her bed and she woke up and said “Look what the Easter Bunny brought!” we (perhaps foolishly) didn’t correct her. I didn’t want her to go into pre-school telling friends there was no Easter Bunny, so it was easier at the time to say nothing either way. I also didn’t want her to start wondering about the Bunny’s Yuletide counterpart. It’s an all or nothing kind of situation, so we stuck our heads in the sand.
That approach worked about as well as it always does, which is why five years later, we have three fervent Easter Bunny fans in the house, writing him notes, wondering what he’ll bring this year, and even seeing him in real life. (That was last year – he was surrounded by gold glitter, and smiled at the child who successfully pretended to be asleep, then told us all about it the next day. The belief is strong in that one.)
One big distinction between Christmas and Easter though is that there’s no wish list; no letter; no specific request for a specific type of egg. And to date, that has kept things simple. But not so this year. A few weeks ago, I found myself alone in a supermarket and messaged my husband to ask if he’d bought eggs. He hadn’t, so I picked up three – the three for a fiver ones. I hid them at the top of the wardrobe.
Some time later, I mentioned it to my husband and he told me he hadn’t realised, and he’d got eggs for them too – three Yorkie eggs. His medium-sized Yorkie eggs definitely trumped my smaller ones, so we decided to use his.
Except then my middle-child started drawing pictures of Caramel Easter eggs and handing them to me. Complete with details of how many bars come with the Caramel egg (“not the funsize ones mum, the big ones”). And then during a conversation about what eggs we like and don’t like, she happened to mention she hates Yorkie eggs. Hates. So I messaged my husband and dispatched him to find a Caramel egg. They had no medium-sized ones left, so he got a big one that comes with three bars. There will be one delighted seven-year-old here on Easter Sunday morning.
Then yesterday, there was another “what’s your favourite chocolate?” conversation. And it turns out the eldest loves Caramel. It’s her favourite type of egg. And I started to picture Easter Sunday morning, as she watches her younger sister eat a giant Caramel egg, wondering why she got a smaller Yorkie one – why the bunny doesn’t love her as much.
I had to fix it. Except my husband is away and the kids are off school, and sneaking to a shop alone is impossible. So I sent an Easter egg SOS to my sister, and last night, she bought the last* remaining large Caramel egg in the country (*poetic licence – possibly not the last one).
And now I have five spare Easter eggs at the top of the wardrobe and I don’t know what to do with them. Actually, what am I saying – this is the best thing ever. Thanks bunny.