The true meaning of Easter is a tricky thing to teach to a 15 month old, so I didn't really try very hard. I was pretty sure the main thought in his head Easter morning was going to be, "Yea! A basket full of stuff for me to throw on the floor!" So I just focused on restricting his sugar intake. I stuffed Richard's basket with a ridiculous amount of candy, but for Harrison, I simply filled his basket up with grass and toys, and then gave him animal crackers, fruit snacks and just a few jelly beans. It was a good plan. He is still very little and I'm sure he wouldn't have noticed. But my plan was thwarted.
Those "few" jelly beans I gave him seemed to miraculously multiply in his basket because he was eating one every time I saw him. And of course he didn't actually EAT them at all, instead he liked to suck off the candy coating, and then drop the slimy jelly innards onto the carpet. Also, he kept making the "I'm stuck" noise and I would go in to find him trying in vain to get the Easter grass off his sticky fingers. I would pull it off, and wipe off his hands and face, but before I knew it he was making the noise again, and I would find him with a sticky face, sticky fingers, and Easter grass stuck all over the place.
I started to think that, unawares, I must have dropped a handful of jelly beans on the floor somewhere and with his Baby-Radar he had found them, so I spent a while crawling around with my face pressed to the floor, looking under all the furniture. I didn't see anything, but I wasn't convinced, so I kept dropping to the floor real suddenly, thinking that if I was fast enough, I could catch them before they had the chance to run away. Fast though I was, I didn't find any jelly bean hang out spots underneath my bookshelf, but my highly advanced surprise tactics did enable me to uncover the answers. His father was giving them to him.
Well, we have a good marriage because I don't nag too much about stuff like that, and he always acts very innocent when confronted. And, since it was Easter, I decided to let it go.
Before long it was time to get dressed. I gathered up my little monkey so that I could put some clothes on him, and found him to be quite the ball of energy. No little boy wants to sit still while his clothes are changed, and Harrison is no exception, but we usually do all right. Now, however, it was all I could do to get him to stay in my lap. It was like a tiny explosion of little arms and legs. And he didn't cry. Oh no. He was having a great time. Giggling his little head off while he squirmed like a piranha in my arms. Luckily I remembered that he'd had quite a bit of sugar, otherwise I might have been a little worried. It was like trying to put a T-shirt on a Tornado. I managed it finally, in a state of shock at the awesome power of the sugar high, and he sped off like a demon.
After that I had to lay down for a minute to catch my breath. Wow. Sugar is a serious stimulant. No wonder I'm such an addict. Sorry Mom! I can only imagine what you suffered at the hands of my sweet tooth.