Monday, April 13, 2009

Happy Easter!

We had a wonderful Resurrection Sunday. I did a poor job documenting it, like our gorgeous food spread, the 'grown-up' table, the kid's table, the cut-throat basketball tournament that broke out at one point . . . but I did snap a few. We had nine adults and seven children over.

I started my day at 5:00am to make two apple pies. A day old soggy pie is just not the same. 

The Easter Bunny did stop by our home in an understated way. And this year, for better or for worse, we eased up on our strict very limited candy allowance. You only live once, and I survived. Right?
The traditional egg hunt ensued . . . 
We went to church, and then came back to our house. "The Men" hid eggs outside for a fun outdoor egg hunt. 
Getting all four kids (the 8 month old Spencer was decidedly too little for the outdoor hunt) to smile turned out to be an impossible feat. Blame it on the sugar intake.
Rosalie (right) was having a dramatic moment.
Can't you just hear her thoughts? "Alright already Aunt Sandy, can't we just can on with the egg hunt!? You're boring the pants off me with this picture taking!"
My brother Scott brought the hunt into the 21st century by getting our parents on video conferencing then carting them (our parents) around and showing them the egg hunt "LIVE". 
Too much.
Reese Bow nabbing an egg.
(don't be deceived, this was being documented on video cam)
Benjamin  . . . never too old for an egg hunt.
Hunters in action
and status report on the basket contents . . . 
CAUGHT! Brown handed . . . and mustached.
My mother-in-law Dulce gets the prize. We'd both gotten up at 5:00am to make various things, but yet, when I was ready to collapse, she was still going strong. She hand-washed every dish in sight. I stuck with her for awhile, but after dessert I sat down. She kept on until every last dish was done. Where does she get the stamina? I'm the one running several times a week. When we visited her sister in Portugal her sister insisted on not only washing our clothes, but ironing them as well (including pajamas!) -- after she'd cooked us dinner, around midnight. Maybe it's genetic. 

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