We may believe in the Resurrection of Jesus, but we also believe in new clothes and ham.
And all the stuff that goes with that.
Because our little family of 3 is living "apart" right now, Dan/Daddy met us at my family's for the weekend. Which meant I was responsible for bringing his Easter finery for that all-important day.
Well.
Khaki pants? Check.
Navy jacket? Check.
New lime green tie that perfectly matched my dress and the boy's shorts? Check.
White dress shirt?
White dress shirt?
"Uhhhh. Honey? Where's my white dress shirt?"
Poop. It took me .5 seconds to realize it was back in the closet at our house. 264 miles away.
Dan/Daddy was a lot calmer than me. I ranted and raved about my failures as a wife and a mentally capable adult for a few minutes before I pulled myself together.
And remembered the true meaning of Easter.
And then I remembered that I had a LOT to pack up.
And then I remembered that all the stuff I packed consisted of Dan/Daddy's turkey hunting gear and approximately 76 firearms.
(You see, because we are moving in a few months, I brought some things to keep at my parents' house during the move. Like my plants and guns. The movers won't move either.)
So I blamed my forgetting of the white shirt on all the unnecessary weaponry I was responsible for.
We had a wonderful Easter Sunday after all, and Dan/Daddy looked completely appropriate in his casual shirt. He should have worn camo. I packed plenty of that.
Look closely. Yes, my son wore Converse tennis shoes to church.
The "guys" (Dan/Daddy, the boy, the nephew, my dad, my brother)
#1 Sis-in-Law (a.k.a. "Martha Stewart")
I could just pinch his cute little cheeks, but don't tell him that.
The "girls" in this rowdy crew are way outnumbered.
And how about that bruise on the boy's knee? We like to keep it real.
Hope your Easter was blessed.
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