Woken at some stupid hour because some child was overly excited about the Easter Bunny and his scheduled visit, Grumpy Pants and I advised him to return to bed until it was a normal time.
Or, at least, to wait another hour so the coffee machine had time to go off.
Also, do not return unless there is a hot coffee in each hand.
Which he did. He also brought two brothers, an older and a younger, with him. All three were sporting cold extremities and used these to gauge the liveliness of their parents, and, perhaps, in a bid to motivate them.
Of course, cold extremities only had the effect of said parents holding the doona even tighter and saying “bugger off” a lot.
In order to get a moment to collect our thoughts, I sent them out into the back yard to search for indications that the Easter Bunny had been.
They’d already done that, and refused to comply.
We talked them into heading out the front door, and then Grumpy lured them into the back yard again, whilst I pranced and danced around the front yard, in my pyjamas, flinging small chocolate eggs from a box around the grass and garden.
I knew there was a reason I needed to collect my thoughts.
Not, of course, to actually remember the Easter Bunny was to have visited, but because I was out in my front yard, in my pyjamas, before 7.00a.m. dancing around, flinging confectionery, completely oblivious to the fact that we have neighbours.
Anyhoo, if you can’t dance around, in your jarmies, in your front yard, flinging chocolate at Easter time, when can you?
I unlock the doors to let them back into the house and out the front, where I proceed to lock them out again and place a slightly larger egg and smallish present on the beds of each of them. Well, Monkey Boy, food snot extraordinaire didn’t get a smallish chocolate egg, as he will only eat Ferrero Rocher. So he got something even smaller.
Chippie nearly self combusted with excitement when I deigned to allow them back into the house.
What with having been carefully conservative with the purchase of chocolate for the children this Easter, coupled with not having neighbours who feel it is there duty to ply my children with copious amounts of chocolate, they managed to consume all chocolate that entered the house in the matter of an hour and … that was it.
I was most impressed with myself that I’d been so prudent in the whole matter AND that I would not have to spend the rest of the day arguing about chocolate consumption – or preventing the overconsumption of chocolate.
The subsequent behaviour, however, required some form of physical activity or some form of burning off excess energy, so a Walk was suggested. It was then dictated.
The chocolate high lasted until the walk was suggested, when the sluggish behaviour kicked in and a Walk was akin to some sort of horrendous torture. Their minds still working, they became more and more elaborate and creative in their explanations as to why they could not walk.
Actually, the best they came up with was “But after we’ve eaten all that chocolate, we’re just going to order a chocolate milkshake, so there’s not point in leaving the house.”
Nice try, and after utilising a small amount of the energy they’d ingested on tantrums and refusing to get dressed, put shoes on or otherwise comply, they followed us out of the house.
A lovely, long walk ensued. Monkey Boy barely escaped being shoved into the river and Chippie was insisting he race everyone, then having a near-meltdown any time someone passed him.
A typical day, really.
Coffee and, indeed, chocolate milkshakes were had before we head off home, Grumpy and I totally exhausted from the series of early morning wakings and possibly also the exhaustion that only school holidays can bring.
It was determined that an afternoon on the couch watching a DVD was the only option, so I chose the opportunity to introduce my children to some classic culture;