As I've gotten older I've become more aware of the true meaning of these holidays, and it makes me feel like maybe I'm missing a big part of what's going on and maybe I should be doing more to celebrate than just making grapefruit and thyme Bellinis.
(which are not for anyone who has any kind of affliction to thyme)
(which I do)
(which is why I should have left it out)
(hindsight)
(still drank the pitcher, though. Waste not and all that...)
We did the whole ham thing and I made, quite possibly, the best creamy scalloped potatoes
(Taylor Swift moment)
....like....ever.
My daughter and I dyed eggs and I got a little territorial about my egg that I'd wrapped rubber bands around and colored orange which ended up looking like a football. Kind of. A spider web maybe. Not really the Martha Stewart display I'd seen at all. I guess you have to do more than one for it to look right.
Anyway, she wanted to put a sticker on it that was a picture of half a pink Easter egg shell with a little fluffy chick sitting it. And I said no. So, to get back at me, she got territorial about the egg she dyed purple and drew butterflies on. I wanted to take a picture of it and she wanted to eat it. I've known my daughter a while now and I kind of know what gets to her.
"You are the most beautiful model ever. I would be so happy to take a picture of you holding out this egg you made. It's the most beautiful egg ever."
And snap.
(Doesn't that look wild? Like I cut it out of the picture and just pasted it here? It's 'cause her shirt was white.)
(No magic. Just pics.)
I feel like I'm getting off track.
My point is that on this Easter Sunday, I felt really horrible sitting down after dinner to watch four episodes of True Blood.
(really, it was during dinner)
(It's only On Demand for the next five minutes so I felt an extremely pressing need to get through all twelve episodes this weekend)
I love this show. It's creepy and sexy and weird and could totally never happen, but I love it. Normally, eating dinner and watching TV is not a big deal on Sunday night. We kind of let loose on the weekends. We stay upstairs. The kids stay down in the playroom. If they try to come up, we kick them back down and shut the door.
Don't judge. It's not nice.
These particular episodes of the show were especially....ummmmm.....ghoulish? Satanic? Of the devil? And every time they took their clothes off or said "G**dammit!" I would roll my eyes toward to ceiling and say a silent
"I'm sorry."
When Jason Stackhouse took the Lord's name in vain I nearly threw my neck out.
It's just entertainment and it's all completely fake and I know the Lord knows that and He really just wants me to be happy and have some fun, it just felt really wrong. Like I was doing a disservice to my children by allowing them to sit downstairs eating lemon meringue pie and laughing their jelly bean stuffed heads off at Wreck-It Ralph while we enjoyed ourselves with champagne and demonic vampires.
And maybe we should have been sitting all together at the computer Googling passages from the Bible
(because I don't really know any off the top of my head)
(except Psalm....)
(Matthew 6:9. The Lord's Prayer)
(which I just Googled because I thought it was a Psalm)
(this is what I'm saying.)
As I climbed into bed last night I sent up several more silent prayers. For my children. For my beloved. Thankful for the fortune of our life. Our health. Our bounty that allowed us to celebrate and give to our children in ways that made them feel happy and loved.
My love for the Lord and the grace I feel in my connection to Him is about more than just my knowledge of Bible verses. I know that.
("He's in here! He's in your hearts!")
(Don't you love when you can quote Footloose and talk about God in the same breath?)
(That's why Footloose rules all.)
And I didn't feel at all guilty about the teeny, tiny, little request that I made that True Blood On Demand will last more than just the weekend.
(2 episodes left to watch)
(this show kills me)
LOVE.
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