‘Tis the season for seersucker, bonnets, and Cadbury Creme Eggs.
A time for Peeps, chocolate rabbits, and Pottery Barn baskets.
Petting zoos, egg hunts, and stories about Jesus.
Easter is about religion but, let’s be real, it’s also about kids. And judging from this year’s Santa picture, I can only imagine how the shot with the Easter Bunny will turn out:
Last year, I did an elaborate, painstaking post about making the perfect Easter basket for kids.
It got me thinking.
Why don’t moms ever get Easter baskets?
We’re the ones who need them the most.
These are the items in my dream Easter basket, in no particular order:
1. Deadbolts. So I can finally use the powder room in peace.
2. Liposuction. After my jelly belly jelly bean binge.
Mmmmmmm. Buttered Popcorn. Cantaloupe. A&W Root Beer.
3. Chinese Finger Traps. So I can stay away from the jelly beans and don’t need #2.
4. Melatonin. Not for me. The kids.
5. A Live-In Maid: Not only will she cook and clean, but she’ll know how to give the perfect blowout and will be able to get smashed-up cheerios out of the back seat of my car.
She’ll take my kids to school so I’ll never be late for work again.
She’ll get my 4-year-old daughter dressed in the mornings so I can stop wrestling her to the ground before daycare.
(My house becomes WWF between Monday and Friday around 8:15 a.m.)
She’d be the twenty-first-century version of Alice from The Brady Bunch.
6. Skincare Products. I’m a skincare junkie. There, I said it! Give me a new moisturizer or an anti-aging eye cream and I’ll be one happy girl.
7. Carrie Underwood Leg Transplant. Caveat: I don’t need to do any maintenance.
No squats or lunges ever again. The glory is mine.
8. For Eyerolls to Become Publicly Acceptable. New rule: if I’ve ever personally witnessed you vomiting into a trash can while kneeling on the bathroom floor at a college dive bar, you don’t get to act like you’re better than anyone else.
I don’t care that we were in school or that it happened fifteen years ago.
9. Ability to Look Cool in Super Trendy Clothes. At what age is it no longer appropriate to shop at Forever 21? Is it when you get old enough that the idea of rummaging through all their
crap clothes gives you a migraine? Or the age where the thought of wearing some of their stuff in front of your grandmother makes you feel dirty and ashamed? What about when you come out of your bedroom donning pleather, snakeskin pants for a party and your husband literally starts laughing? (That happened to me. I was four months pregnant. Okay, I deserved it.)
What do YOU want in your Easter basket?
P.S. This is satirical.
Cheers! And Happy Easter. xo