From Scratch

My mother's Easter/angel birthday celebration was everything I could've hoped for and more.  She had overflowing bowls of jelly beans.  She had bunny-shaped rolls made "from scratch."  She had lemon and chocolate cake for the little angel's birthday. She had Easter baskets for the kids complete with bubble guns that took BATTERIES.  And she had batteries. 

At one point, my aunt (and this is funny - the aunt that made my mother jealous when we were growing up because she made everything "from scratch") looked and me and said,"You know, I could never do Easter after your mother.  She's too hard an act to follow."  I found this incredibly ironic, since for some reason my mother seemed to think she was the one who didn't measure up in the culinary category to my aunts during my childhood.  I'm sure she is overcompensating now, but in some ways, she's having the last laugh.

It made me think about perception, though, and how we think people see us versus how they really do. 

After the party and the two-and-a-half hour drive home, we went to the grocery store, where my beloved hounded me for purchasing the little "meal" of beans and wienies for the little angel instead of the cans.  Why? It's cheaper.  As we were checking out, however, I noticed he'd thrown two pounds of Jelly Bellies into the cart.

Two pounds.

Twelve dollars.

Hypocrite.

I blame my mother, who can make anyone a jellybean addict with her overflowing and too accessible droplets of gooey, sugar goodness.

By the time we got home, the little angel had had enough. Enough ice cream. Enough bubbles.  Enough wardrobe changes.  Enough driving.  She had to poopy, and it wasn't working out.  Finally, in a fit of screaming, she got it accomplished, but it must've hurt.  Afterward, she sat up on the changing table with crocodile tears balanced on her rosy cheeks and looked at me.

"I'm a wanting-a ICE PACK," she said.

That's a new one.