It started earlier this year.
“Mommy, how does the Easter Bunny get everywhere in one night?”
“Uh, well, what do you think?”
BigBrother looked out his window in the car; this is where all of life’s most important questions are asked. It took him awhile.
“I don’t know. He’s just a rabbit.”
Muttering under my breath something about the freaking creepy Easter Bunny, I asked him a question. “Well, how does Santa get everywhere in one night? He’s just a human.”
“He uses magic, of course.”
“The Easter Bunny uses magic, too?”
Another pause as he stared at the sky. “If you say so.”
I didn’t really, but that’s where we left it.
— __ — __ —
I had kind of forgotten about that conversation — either because we’ve been so busy with the move or because I didn’t even want to go there — until this afternoon. I was finishing up some work when he busted into my office to ask me a Very Important Question. His question fell by the wayside as he looked at my computer screen which had this (scary) photo up…
Photo Credit: vastateparkstaff via Creative Commons.
…accompanying this article:
That’s right. He was looking at a photo of the Easter Bunny with the word “fake” in the title. In bold.
I did some panicked clicking. I made a big deal about whatever he had come into my office to ask me. I sent him on his way. And then stared at my computer for a little while before deciding that I truly hate the Easter Bunny.
We didn’t go get horrific but hilarious Easter Bunny pictures this year despite having gone faithfully for the past five years. I was afraid that the purposefully forgotten but kind of still present conversation would result in a finger-pointing, “You’re-not-real!,” LittleBrother-dream-crashing scene at the mall. I thought avoiding the obviously fake rabbit might extend the magic a little bit longer. I was hoping that none of the kids at school were raining on my son’s Easter parade.
I didn’t realize that I was the most likely dream crusher.
Having kids who can read is a pain in the rear end, let me tell you.
All of that said, I don’t think he actually got to read any of the big, bold words. I think he was too transfixed on the fact that the Easter Bunny looks creepy. Really, really creepy. He was probably thinking to himself, “My Lord! I hope that thing doesn’t come to our house. He looks so weird. Like he might kidnap me and bite my ears off like we do to chocolate bunnies. Maybe he doesn’t know that we moved yet and won’t find us. Why does he LOOK like THAT? NIGHTMARES!”
All the same, I may have padded their Easter baskets a little more this evening out of work-at-home, dream-crushing, mommy guilt.