Our deepest thanks to Mr. Richard Dean Anderson, oh and Happy Easter.

Yes I know I’m a little behind in my Easter well-wishing but once you read this story you might just understand why.

Easter and more specifically the whole egg laying part and our family do not mix. Don’t get me wrong I like Easter, who wouldn’t like a day were consuming copious amounts of chocolate is not only allowed but encouraged.  Also and massively more importantly Easter is an opportunity to express our joy and gratitude to God for never giving up on us. However I don’t have the best track record for getting it right.

For example the year we acquired our intelligence-challenged spaniel, rejected from the show ring due to a wonky tooth, our kids were lucky to get any eggs at all. We had left the whole egg laying caper a little late so some time past midnight I found myself hurriedly cramming eggs into  tiny caves found along the bookshelves. After hiding away over half of our tiniest eggs and running thin on obvious  egg spots in our little lounge room I turned to do a visual sweep of the room. When I turned I came face to face with a silent and very guilty faced brown hairy mutt. He had been shadowing me all night, so close behind that I hadn’t noticed, and as I placed each egg he silently gobbled it up again. I must have spun around faster than he expected because there we were standing face to face, me with my surprised mouth gaping his full of shiny foil and dripping chocolate. After a slightly panicked search of the room we came to realize that every cleverly thought of place of concealment had just as cleverly been robbed by the dog.  Luckily we hadn’t put out any of the big eggs and Glenn and I made up the difference from our own secret stash, the things parents do.

Most of the other horror stories involve the same pedigree mutt but take place the day after Easter and could be titled “The Mysterious Disappearance of all of Eli’s Eggs” so this year I was determined to outsmart the hairy one and have a tearless and smiley faced Easter. Before the eggs were hidden we secured the woefully sad and pleading eyed dog behind the baby gate, we found suitable containment for each of the children’s stashes and even cleared a space high up on the hall cupboards shelf for the egg bags to go later. We started earlier and had fun setting up the kids favourite toys with bunny ears and a little collection of eggs to great them at the table. When we had finished Glenn and I looked at each other and I think that one of us may have even said “Right I think it’s time for bed”

Cue baby.

Um, she’s a soprano by the way, oh and boy can she sing!

As the clock ticked over to 12 the baby woke. No big deal she does this every night, I give her a feed, she goes back to sleep.

Not this night, not no way. She chooses Easter eve to cut two massive molars, teeth in our family come with at least six points. Not only would she not sleep but there was no consoling her. The only time she was quiet was when one of us had her wrapped up in our arms and jogged back and forth across the family room. Sitting was entirely out of the question, I mean what horrible parent would want to sit down at 2:00 in the morning anyway, how selfish.  I realised with a horrible sinking feeling that dealing with miss screamy bags was up to me alone. Glenn was running the projector at church in the morning and the Easter service is probably not the best one to fall asleep in mid-song.

As I jealously waved my husband off to bed I looked around for something that might drown out the screaming and keep me sane while I didn’t sleep. Our TV has had it, so after watching all the new releases at the video store that we could bare to play we’ve been working our way through whatever old TV shows we come across in the shop and go, “Hey wow do you remember that one?” Our current nostalgia grab is MacGyver. 

I tightened my grip on the hysterical octopus I was attempting to rock back to sleep and pressed play. She squirmed through the opening credits but it was alright I had gained a boost from the memory of childish excitement that the theme music conjured up. Then something totally amazing happened. As a bushwhacking MacGyver began his opening monologue, something about him and Pete being bestest buddies and the need to always have a stash of chewing gum on hand, the baby stoped screaming.  She didn’t sleep but while that guy was dashing around on the screen wielding the laws of physics and a mullet big enough to scare the pants of any hardened criminal she was happy. In fact when one disc finished she screamed until I put the next one in. I’m now worried about her and think we might get her psychologically assessed. 

So I would like to officially thank Mr Richard Dean Anderson for stopping the screaming, allowing me to display supreme parenting skills by dozing on the couch while the baby watched TV and for being being my kids first TV crush.

Oh yeah and three days after Easter the dog ate all of Lilly’s eggs but she didn’t cry and the other kids shared out their remaining eggs of their own volition, so I call this year a win. HAPPY EASTER!!!!