Sunday, April 8, 2012
Easter Musings and Memories
Easter is, in my opinion, the premier holiday for those below the Mason-Dixon. It is the one time of year the rest of humanity is forced into our pastel coated world, and when we get the excuse to wear even MORE outrageous outfits than usual. Easter provides the last hoorah before the long months separating the sticky hot 4th of July parties from the spring, and gives women a chance to showcase their hair before the humidity builds up too much. It also provides some great opportunities for good old southern guilt: "Linda Lou, your savior rose from the grave today, the least you can do it to rise and shine and help me fold these napkins!" or "Hannah Lee, you need to put some blush on or people will think YOU rose from the dead"
My mother was no different. If you have a southern mother like I do, Easter is an eggs-travagant affair (see what I did there?). While Easter has lost some of its luster to many families, our Easters were an all-out pastel-coated sugar-filled day of excitement. The morning would begin with my sister and I waking up and excitedly awaiting the search for our Easter baskets. We'd run to our parents room, and were promptly made to go back into our own rooms so dad could get the camera to film us "waking up on Easter morning." This happened until I left for college. Anyway, he would film us coming down the hallway/ down the stairs to find our jelly bean trail that the Easter Bunny left to guide us to our baskets. It was always a struggle keeping the cats from batting the jelly beans around and ruining the trail before we woke up. Then we would find our treasure trove of peeps, chocolate, small toys, and whatever else my mother stuffed into the huge handled baskets we used each year. My biggest thrill came out of getting Cadbury Cream eggs.... but not much has changed there.
We would go to church, of course, in our fluffy-skirted dresses, our hair probably curled and sprayed within an inch of its life. We'd have white socks with lace trim, a bunny writslet that doubled as a change purse for donating to those less fortunate, all topped with a matching big-ass bow planted on our heads. Eventually, we started to skip the Easter service because of time constraints-- and, according to my mother, "You can pray just as well washing dishes at your kitchen sink as you can in a chapel."
After church, we'd come home for the most amazing Easter parties ever. My mom, always the overachiever, would make all of her specialty dishes: ham, baked pineapple, pretzel salad, rolls that looked like bunny rabbits, punch, etc etc, all capped off with my favorite thing in the entire world: BUNNY CAKE.
You might think you know how to make Bunny Cake, but you don't (unless you are my friend Lauren Ellis-- she does a bangin job). Fancy Nancy Fox is the only person who can make Bunny Cake at her level of amazingness. Bunny Cake is a staple of my life. The first year my mom didn't make bunny cake-- sometime in high school maybe?-- I cried. CRIED over a cake. Now, it may seem like something simple, but Bunny Cake is far from just a cake. It was a constant in my childhood. When I think Easter, I think bunny cake. I considered making one myself in college, but then realized that it would just be a disappointment. Moms, especially southern ones, have some magic in their veins that pours out into the things they cook. Without TOO much reminiscing, I'll just say that I am looking forward to the days when I have my own children, so my mom has to make Bunny Cake again.
After eating enough to feed a third world country, we'd have a massive Easter egg hunt. When I say massive, I mean two huge trashbags filled with plastic eggs and candy. My dad, egg stuffer extraordinaire, (except for that year when he was stuffing and he ate a carrot-shaped eraser because he thought it was candy) and all of the uncles would go out and hide the eggs around our house and field, and would sometimes fine lone eggs from previous years in the process. I just remember running and being so happy and free, and on such a sugar high. Life was good.
So what am I doing sitting and going through these memories when I should be writing a paper on the FTC's proposed regulations of Apps directed at children (try not to get to excited about that one, folks, its going to be a page turner, I'm sure.)? The point is, when I think about all of the work behind that amazing day, it seems colossal. Between the food, coordinating people, dressing two little girls so they looked like they stepped out of a Rothschild catalog, timing everything perfectly-- that is a ton of work to make one day of pure candy-coma-induced bliss for your children and family. I would think that my mom would be breathing a sigh of relief that she can rest for a few years (read: MANY years) before I have kids. But this is what I saw on Facebook yesterday:
She misses it. In spite of all of the slaving away, stress, and planning, she misses it. Times like these are how I know my mom is a super mom. She loves us so much that it didn't matter how crazy her life was in the days leading up to Easter. She did this with all holidays, of course, but I feel like Easter she was especially proud of. She transformed a half-Jewish group of relatives and friends into a family celebrating rebirth. When many kids think of Easter, they think of egg hunts and food. I think of the feeling of renewal that shone out of everyone at our house each year.
So here's to you mom. While we may not be together celebrating this year (my sister is in Savannah and I am studying for exams) I still feel the spirit of Easter. I still feel rebirth, and can feel the love that you poured into our lives not just at Easter, but every single day. And as I sit here trying to write this paper, I can still feel the Easter sunshine on my cheeks, the big bow bouncing on my head, and the clover underneath my feet as I race around the yard, blissfully soaking in the love you gave us.
[Now, if you know my mother, you'll know she is bawling right about now from reading this. Soooo I'm sorry about that. Just had to give you some credit :) ]
My mother was no different. If you have a southern mother like I do, Easter is an eggs-travagant affair (see what I did there?). While Easter has lost some of its luster to many families, our Easters were an all-out pastel-coated sugar-filled day of excitement. The morning would begin with my sister and I waking up and excitedly awaiting the search for our Easter baskets. We'd run to our parents room, and were promptly made to go back into our own rooms so dad could get the camera to film us "waking up on Easter morning." This happened until I left for college. Anyway, he would film us coming down the hallway/ down the stairs to find our jelly bean trail that the Easter Bunny left to guide us to our baskets. It was always a struggle keeping the cats from batting the jelly beans around and ruining the trail before we woke up. Then we would find our treasure trove of peeps, chocolate, small toys, and whatever else my mother stuffed into the huge handled baskets we used each year. My biggest thrill came out of getting Cadbury Cream eggs.... but not much has changed there.
We would go to church, of course, in our fluffy-skirted dresses, our hair probably curled and sprayed within an inch of its life. We'd have white socks with lace trim, a bunny writslet that doubled as a change purse for donating to those less fortunate, all topped with a matching big-ass bow planted on our heads. Eventually, we started to skip the Easter service because of time constraints-- and, according to my mother, "You can pray just as well washing dishes at your kitchen sink as you can in a chapel."
 |
| Imagine this with a bigger bow. |
 |
| Gloves were often my accessory |
 |
| This bow is about the right size. |
After church, we'd come home for the most amazing Easter parties ever. My mom, always the overachiever, would make all of her specialty dishes: ham, baked pineapple, pretzel salad, rolls that looked like bunny rabbits, punch, etc etc, all capped off with my favorite thing in the entire world: BUNNY CAKE.
 |
| I tried to find one that does my Mom's justice, but this is the best I could do. Hers are so much better. |
You might think you know how to make Bunny Cake, but you don't (unless you are my friend Lauren Ellis-- she does a bangin job). Fancy Nancy Fox is the only person who can make Bunny Cake at her level of amazingness. Bunny Cake is a staple of my life. The first year my mom didn't make bunny cake-- sometime in high school maybe?-- I cried. CRIED over a cake. Now, it may seem like something simple, but Bunny Cake is far from just a cake. It was a constant in my childhood. When I think Easter, I think bunny cake. I considered making one myself in college, but then realized that it would just be a disappointment. Moms, especially southern ones, have some magic in their veins that pours out into the things they cook. Without TOO much reminiscing, I'll just say that I am looking forward to the days when I have my own children, so my mom has to make Bunny Cake again.
After eating enough to feed a third world country, we'd have a massive Easter egg hunt. When I say massive, I mean two huge trashbags filled with plastic eggs and candy. My dad, egg stuffer extraordinaire, (except for that year when he was stuffing and he ate a carrot-shaped eraser because he thought it was candy) and all of the uncles would go out and hide the eggs around our house and field, and would sometimes fine lone eggs from previous years in the process. I just remember running and being so happy and free, and on such a sugar high. Life was good.
So what am I doing sitting and going through these memories when I should be writing a paper on the FTC's proposed regulations of Apps directed at children (try not to get to excited about that one, folks, its going to be a page turner, I'm sure.)? The point is, when I think about all of the work behind that amazing day, it seems colossal. Between the food, coordinating people, dressing two little girls so they looked like they stepped out of a Rothschild catalog, timing everything perfectly-- that is a ton of work to make one day of pure candy-coma-induced bliss for your children and family. I would think that my mom would be breathing a sigh of relief that she can rest for a few years (read: MANY years) before I have kids. But this is what I saw on Facebook yesterday:
She misses it. In spite of all of the slaving away, stress, and planning, she misses it. Times like these are how I know my mom is a super mom. She loves us so much that it didn't matter how crazy her life was in the days leading up to Easter. She did this with all holidays, of course, but I feel like Easter she was especially proud of. She transformed a half-Jewish group of relatives and friends into a family celebrating rebirth. When many kids think of Easter, they think of egg hunts and food. I think of the feeling of renewal that shone out of everyone at our house each year.
So here's to you mom. While we may not be together celebrating this year (my sister is in Savannah and I am studying for exams) I still feel the spirit of Easter. I still feel rebirth, and can feel the love that you poured into our lives not just at Easter, but every single day. And as I sit here trying to write this paper, I can still feel the Easter sunshine on my cheeks, the big bow bouncing on my head, and the clover underneath my feet as I race around the yard, blissfully soaking in the love you gave us.
[Now, if you know my mother, you'll know she is bawling right about now from reading this. Soooo I'm sorry about that. Just had to give you some credit :) ]
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