Sunday, March 23, 2008

Nine More Years...

Easter began in this household at 7am, with Brady coming into the bedroom all excited and ready to hunt eggs. Hubby and I decided last night about midnight that it would be in our best interest to hide eggs inside this year, as there was a small chance of rain (that we didn't get). It also meant that we could hide them at 1 am after our movie ended, not having to worry about getting up at 5 before the kids got up to hide them, hope neighborhood dogs don't find them and try to go back to sleep. We got up a few minutes later and they hunted their eggs, a total of 15 for each of them hid. That's 45 eggs hid in two rooms. Not a small feat.

Not long after these pictures were taken, and the last egg found, we had breakfast so that we could get started on our day. Hubby went after a Sunday paper, a ritual for us, that we read while the kids danced on their Dance Revolution Dance Pad the Easter Bunny brought them. We stopped and picked up chicken for lunch and had lunch at my parent's home. The kids played hard, I attempted to fix Mom's mp3 player and watched a movie. Then the fun times started.

Before we could leave my parent's home, Hubby got sick. I drove the trip home, with him clinging to his keys so that he could make a mad dash to the bathroom before the car was in park (he felt better a short time later). The kids played video games, played games outside and made their own submarine sandwiches for supper before getting ready for their showers. Brady had gone to my room to get my backpack from last year because his had a nice hole in the bottom and I really didn't want something important falling out. I didn't want to have to buy a replacement with less than 9 week left in the school year either. On his way out the door he hit his ankle on the door frame, knocking a layer of skin back pretty good and required fixing (according to him, he couldn't walk on it). Hubby took care of that, cleaning it up and bandaging it for him. No problem.

Belle was the last one to take a shower tonight, and for some unknown reason she decided that she needed to use a barbie comb on her hair while she was still in the shower. I found that out when Brady came into the living and said "Mom, Dad said a bad word because he cut his finger trying to get stuff out of Belle's hair." Oooookkkkkk. I feared she had gum or clay in her hair. So I got up to find Hubby standing in front of the tub, Belle still in the tub wrapped in a towel, and Hubby with a wad of her hair in his hand trying to cut the comb out of it without actually cutting her hair. After asking him to show me his thumb, he directed me to a string of toilet paper on the sink, covered in blood. So I finally stopped him long enough to show me the thumb, sent him to fix it and I took over trying to get the comb out of her hair. Thirty minutes later, I had all but two teeth and the handle of the comb out of her hair, but that little bit proved to be the main problem. Hubby finally worked it far enough down her hair that we didn't have to cut a lot to get it out, but did have to cut some of it out. He has a nice cut on his thumb, one that took New Skin and a couple of tight band-aids to fix. Belle is not going to need a new hair cut to hide the damage she did. The cut hair blended in with her normal length and it was noticeable only if you were looking for something. I mean really looking. We almost didn't find it ourselves. As she went to brush finish getting ready for bed I whispered to Hubby, "Please let it be over."

"We've got nine more years."

"I was referring to the day, dear. This day better not last nine more years. Bryce and I are the only two who haven't had something happen to us."

Then I knocked on wood. Hubby said, "You'd better do something or we'll hear a thud when Bryce falls out of his bed trying to climb down (out of the top bunk)." We haven't had a thud yet. Knock on wood.

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