Here Comes Peter Cottontail, Hopping Down the "Necessity is the Mother of Invention" Trail

(or, “Fun in the Remote Highlands of New Guinea,” Vol. 8)

I have vague memories of shopping for Easter candy and other basket-stuffers back home. My mind is filled with foggy images of complete aisles full of baskets, buckets, stuffed bunnies, and plastic grass, and still more aisles containing jelly beans, chocolate bunnies, cream eggs, and other treats.  I even seem to remember something about a jelly bean-pooping … oh wait, that was a raindeer.

But it must be a hallucination, right?  Surely it couldn’t have been aisles and aisles ….

Not only do we not have seasons here to mark the passage of time, we also don’t have mega-stores blaring holiday music in October, and stocking red heart-shaped boxes tied with lacy bows even as the customer service lines begin filling with shoppers holding after-Christmas returns.  So, when, on Thursday afternoon (just an hour before the store would close for the next four days) I caught sight of the Easter candy shelf, it surprised me. 

Uh oh … Sunday is Easter.

From my place in the check-out line, I visually perused the meter-long shelf (yes, singular).  It contained stock of four different items.  I quickly decided I needed to make some attempt … for the children’s sake, right?  I reached for two 8” hollow chocolate rabbits, one foil-dressed as a boy, and the other as a girl.

So, this morning, when my son asked me for his, presumably well-stocked, Easter basket, I presented him with - without fanfare, mind you – a single bunny.

And some ideas.

He was a great sport about it.  He immediately unwrapped the bunny and gave it a thumbs-up even while chocolate goo oozed from the corners of his mouth.  He chewed delightedly while I suggested that we make our own chocolate/peanut butter “eggs.”  I had considered fudge, and a dear friend at home, upon hearing that I didn’t have much chocolate, sent me some recipes for peanut butter fudge.  But, I think with what we have we can even swing Buckeyes.  If the kids want to wrap them in foil and hide them around the house, or if they want to call them bunny poo instead of eggs, that will be fine with me. 

But that would have to wait.  First, we had breakfast to tackle.

Evan whipped up pancake batter from scratch (we assured him that with the mad cooking skills he was sure to develop, he would be the hit of the college dorm someday).  He asked for four bowls and dug through the pantry for the food coloring.  Soon the batter was distributed and colored and the creative juices began to flow.

And the way I figure it, at least there are eggs in pancake batter.   :)