Yesterday was Easter, and while we are certainly grateful for the rising of Christ, it was pretty non-descript around our crib. Church is always too crowded on Easter so we take a little vacay. Judge me, I don’t care. Anyway, there were no new Easter frolics, no egg hunts, no Easter Baskets. The latter of these things has been rubbing Aidan the wrong way for quite some time now. He’s been wondering why on earth the Easter Bunny always skips his house.
Well, it’s because despite my good intentions every year, I’ve just never made him a basket. Reason I’m a horrible Mom number 1. So I figured that after all these years of not getting one, he’d get used to it. Reason number 2. However, on Sunday as we were riding past church on the way to Walmart, he asked me straight out, point blank, if the reason his Easters are lackluster is because I’m the Easter Bunny (this is directly related to how he found out I’m the tooth fairy – remind me to tell you that one day).
So, I admitted it. Yes. I’m the Easter Bunny, or, in this situation, the lack thereof. But I made sure that I mentioned that Daaaaddy was also 1/2 of the Easter Bunny, so he should share in the empty Easter blame as.well. And Aidan took it well. At first, he made a little sad face, but I think he really felt better that this fictional character wasn’t disappointed in him, his Mom was just a slacker. I’ll take it.
It took a turn for the worse. He said “Wait a minute. If you’re the Easter Bunny, are you also Santa?”
I froze. Which, to Aidan, was a clear indication that I am, indeed, Santa Claus. Now, Christmases are generally pretty good around these parts, so I didn’t feel the need to mention Daaaaddy’s part in the Santa shenanigans. The boy had already suffered enough for one day. Then he looks like he’s going to cry. Oh, no. He says, “So if Santa isn’t real, then how did I talk to him on the phone in second grade?” Crap, he remembered that.
I was already in hot water, so I just told. “Well, your teacher sent a note home and told us to tell her the things you were going to get, and to tell her one naughty thing, and one nice thing. Then she gave our lists to one of her friends who called and said he was Santa. He looks incredulous. I look very sorry for having to break this news to him, but enough of the lies, doggoneit!!
“So, it was you? Mom, why did you tell Santa bad things about me? Why weren’t you loyal to me?” At this point, I am FREAKING.OUT. “What? What do you mean?” “Ma, when Santa called I was the only one he said negative things about. He said on the phone that I didn’t clean my room and he didn’t say bad things about anyone else! And you told him that!?”
Then I remembered that day. He was right. Santa did say nice things about him, but I remember he cried because Santa mentioned his naughtiness in front of all his friends.
Why didn’t I just make the freaking Easter Basket???
Y’all. There was nothing I could say, even though I considered saying that Daaaddy filled out the paper. I just told him that I was sorry and that when I told his teacher that, I didn’t know it would make him feel bad, but it was still true (and it still is today, but it would be mean to point that out in this very delicate moment). And I reminded him that even though his room wasn’t always spic and span, he always got whatever he wanted for Christmas, so that meant that Mom and Dad were very proud of him. He seemed okay with it, I felt like the worst Mom ever.
Then for the rest of the day I bought him whatever he wanted and had to play Monopoly Empire about 7 times and let him win. Let’s just call it the Santa tax.