Happy Easter

Last night was the Bub's school fundraiser, which means the Hub and I had to drink at least $150 worth of free wine just to break even. That didn't happen, but we tried... and at least got a date night out of the deal. In a move five years in the making, I finally accepted my new, post-baby bra size and broke down and purchased a D cup... which if you've ever been squeezing into a bra not adequately sized and then miraculously switched to one that does, the new found support can be positively uplifting. That coupled with a probably-too-low-cut dress garnered many comments from my fellow preschool mothers in the form of "bringing the girls out" and what not. The Hub insisted the doorman wolf-whistled under his breath as we were both entering and leaving the party, but I suspect he just said that to make me feel good. Which it did.

In a reciprocating move, I spent all night complementing the other moms I know never get to dress up either on how great they all looked. Everyone seemed happy and giddy and glad to be away from children for one night. The Bub's music teacher was there and she commented that she'd never seen me without a bandanna on my head. (Sad, but true.) It was a sweet evening as the Hub and I held hands and bid on silent auction items we knew we couldn't afford but were confident some wealthy parent would outbid us on. Leave it to five glasses of wines from "around the world" to make you think buying a giant, wooden sculpture of the school mascot is a good idea.

But every Cinderella must face her pumpkin eventually, and for the 80th day in a row, the Bub woke us up early this morning begging for the Easter tree to come down from the attic. For some insane reason, the Hub and I obliged. Bleary-eyed, the Hub headed up to the attic while the Bub climbed behind barking orders. Once down and unpacked, it was clear that the Easter tree I'd coveted and watched and waited for three years to go on sale had been de-barked by an industrious mouse. Small tragedy for sure, but a tragedy none-the-less.

While I sent the Hub to the grocery for poison (NO MERCY), somehow the tree got decorated without looking too terrible. Eventually, the Hub returned with poison in tow (DIE VERMIN DIE), and then set off down the road again to visit his father who is still convalescing in assisted nursing, leaving the Bub and I to begin the day properly. The Bub was coloring and listening to Harry Potter #7 on audio for the second time. I was sending e-mails and perusing my blog roll. After a while the Bub tromped into my office and saw this post and insisted we stop everything we were doing and make birds like that RIGHT NOW! Birds turned into making ornaments for the Easter tree. Which turned into face painting (one Harry Potter lightning scar for the boy), which turned into watering the garden, which turned into bird watching out the window. All before noon. Peace, quiet and heaven.

It's mornings like this that make me think I'm doing something right. Like I can make my little corner of the world bright and sunshiny and wonderful despite bandannas and sabotaging rodents. Or maybe it was just the added support. Good bras have been known to give women a bloated sense of self esteem.