The Death of the Easter Bunny and Other Misadventures in PMS

Easter Morning. Too early for sane people to have risen. An urgent little voice rouses me from my sleep. "Mommy," it demands. "You must wake up! It's Easter. And I looked outside. And the Easter Bunny HASN'T been! Is the Easter bunny even real?"

"It's too early for the Easter Bunny to have been. Go back to bed." I mumble.

Of course she doesn't. She goes to wake her sister and the two of them busy themselves with the PS2.

I roll over in bed. The man sleeping next to me has not flinched. He is immune to the early morning pleads of our offspring. I kick him in the shin.

"Here's the plan," I instruct the zombie lying before me. "We'll put all the eggs in one basket - literally. I'll get the breakfast things going and you put the choccies in a nice gift bag, take them around to the front door, ring the doorbell and the girls can find them there."

We are in agreement. The next few minutes are a jumble of pyjamas, clothing, shoes, gift bags, eggs, tissue paper and coffee. He disappears discreetly out the back door and I start a load of washing.

The doorbell rings. Unfortunately, I'm up to my elbows in er, cornflakes. I yell for the girls to get the door as my darling husband waltzes in the back door - a bead of perspiration clinging to his left eyebrow.

The girls dash to the door, struggle with the keys, open it and Lo, and behold! A beautiful gift bag lies abandoned on our doorstep. Oh the excitement! The sheer thrill of finding a treasure like this. Hastily they bring it in, giggling and chatting about what it could be and who it could be from.

Peering over their shoulders, the man of the house declares, "It's from the Easter Bunny, of course!"

"No, it isn't!" is not the response we were waiting for, but it is the one we got. The eldest child has discovered a card attached to the bag and proceeds to read it with great care: "Dear Air-Bear. Happy Birthday! From Hannah"

Silence erupts. And then the moment dissolves into utter confusion.

T-bird says, "Air-Bear, it's for you. From Hannah."

Air-Bear says, "But it's not my birthday."

Father says, "No! It's from the Easter bunny." And snatches the evil card away.

I shoot daggers at the man who, up until that point had played his role flawlessly. He gestures over their heads, "What?!?!?"

I gesture, "You die today."

I mean REALLY!!! Standing on the brink of the beauty which is childhood fantasy and the looming, neverending tide of reality and you go and do an irresponsible thing like that! Just throw it all away, why don't you! And while you're at it tell them the tooth fairy didn't react well to the Target insecticide spray and that Santa Claus died about 50 million years ago. Thank you very much, darling husband of mine!