Sunday, April 16, 2006
Super Grams prepared a really wonderful dinner last night: chicken, pastini with bacon, taters with gravy accompanied by a nice glass of Gramps's home-ferment ravat. A great follow-up from the previous night's meal of steamed snow crab, buttered sauted shrimp with garlic, rice and ... her piece de resistance, velvet smooth clam chowder. Yeah, there were nearly no leftovers that survived the next 24 hours. Nothing like Mom's cooking. I can proclaim her accolades without raising the ire of the Mrs since she is an advocate of being a sybarite without knowing the mechanisms by which the feast is produced. Nope, Daddy does a lions share (loin shank?) of the cooking. I prefer it that way, don't you know. It's on those days when I just don't have the energy to cook that a night out (paid for on the Mrs's CC) is well received. That could be good or bad. Either my cooking is horrific al la Lockhorns or the idea of not having to clean up the dishes is worth the price. I'm going with the second with a dash of 'loving husband' to spice it up.
The kids were absolutely zonkers for the egg hunt. Sure, they 'slept in' till 0730 or so. Rip Van Winkle they are not. I was up at 0600 to let the dogs out. Well, that's not entirely honest. The ol' bladder was stirring up trouble for me at about that time so a quick trip was in order. The Hounds heard me and started their cacophonous orchestral composition of wails, moans and whimpers. It's not that the really need to spill forth their reserves of liquid fire and acid, it's just on their schedule. They get fed Hippie Kibble (made from REAL hippies!) at this time so it's more of an anticipation issue than anything else. Back to the kids though. We hid roughly 10,000 eggs filled with dimes, nickels quarters and an occasional bit of candy throughout the FOB the previous night and Alexis immediately (in the dark, no less) spotted a pink one at the bottom of the stairs. I think big-foot, the Yetti and the loch ness monster were waiting down there too but all she could talk about was that durned pink egg. It did not take the two of them long to recon the hiding locations and extract every last one. Every so often, they would happen upon an egg containing some sort of treat with sugar, the contents would be devoured with extreme prejudice. Entire candy-bars ceased to exist within seconds. I could hear a billion candy-bars cry out in horror. There were only 120 or so eggs actually but the speed at which they discovered them was disturbing. I suppose we will have to be slightly more devious next year. No mercy. Stealth eggs and micro cloaking shields.
Easter mass is at 1100 ... we leave at 1030 just as a precaution to ensure that a we are able to find a pew with enough space to hold all of us and a bit to spare for the Twin Tyrants of Excited HyperSpeed Sugar Ambulation. After snarfing down enough chocolate to keep the entire royal heritage of the French Regal line right up to the end. Perhaps Marie would have spouted; 'Let them eat Godiva.' instead? No matter, it was the resulting sugar crash/detox at roughly 1115 that made the French revolution look like a pre-school rave. Let's just leave it at that and that once Jake sputtered out, things became much easier. Right now, though, it's time to convince these little love parasites that we need to drive all the way back to Pennsyltucky. That, friends, is a tale for tomorrow.
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