Since when did the Easter Bunny become f*cking Santa?!

I got really caught out by the Easter Bunny thing this year.

Since when did it become a thing anyway? I blame America. And social media. And probably American social media. Peter Rabbit is annoying enough. And now this. UGH.

Just to give you some background. Every Easter Sunday since the girlies have been tiny we have invited our very good friends over. They also have two similar aged girls. We usually have a nice lunch then we do an Easter egg hunt. Every year the dads hide the eggs. That’s the way it’s always been. It’s NEVER been done in secret and it’s NEVER been the Easter Bunny who’s hidden the eggs.

The dads hide them every year. End. Of.

Why?

Well, because he doesn’t exist silly. Not in a ‘Santa doesn’t exist’ way, but in a ‘the Easter Bunny has NEVER been a thing in this country nor in my family’ kind of way. Not in my childhood anyway.

We have NEVER bought the kids their eggs in secret and left them out on Easter morning pretending the Easter Bunny has been in the night. NEVER!!!

Cut to this year. The kids chose their own eggs in the supermarket the other week and that was it. Got myself a corn fed M & S free-range chicken in and told my guests to bring pud. I was Easter ready.

The kids got up Easter Sunday morning. I’d put their eggs (which they had chosen remember?) on the table with the cards and the little ‘grow your own sunflower’ kits my mum had got them. Done.

Enter the kids.

My 6 year old – (excited) ‘Has the Easter Bunny been?’

Me – (half asleep not knowing it was a thing) ‘Erm. No.’

My 6 year old – (confused) ‘Well, will he be hiding the eggs for the Easter egg hunt then?’

Me – ‘No. The Daddies do that remember?’

And that was it. I had officially ruined Easter.

She hung her head in utter disappointment and took herself off to the step to quietly sob.

I was kind of in shock. WHAT. HAD. JUST. HAPPENED?

Dad went after her to talk it out. She told him she was ‘Sad because the Easter Bunny didn’t exist.’

AAAARGH!!!

A quick flick through Insta confirmed that, yes indeed, the Easter Bunny seemed to have had a promotion this year and he was, in fact now on par with Santa.

Reams of beaming, happy children posing next to their Easter Bunny hauls were plastered all over the colourful little squares. Eggs, baskets, sweets, bunting and even signed feckin notes off the little prick were strewn all over every other half decent Instamum’s feed.

CHRIST. ON. A. STICK. (Easter themed blasphemy… clever huh? Oh stop, he came back to life anyway right?)

I quickly text my friend who was heading over. Would she have done the whole Easter Bunny thing? If her kids arrived full of stories of their Easter Bunny’s generous and magical visit I’d be even more screwed.

Unfortunately my worst fears were confirmed. Yes, she had left eggs out from the b*stard Bunny. She even insisted it was a family tradition carried on from her childhood!

WTF? How did I miss this?! Was it just my mother who hadn’t done the Easter Bunny thing? Do childline backdate reports of child abuse I wonder?

I had been well and truly crucified by this Easter Bunny sh*t! (see what I did there again?)

So what did I do?

I did what any other sh*t mother with her back against the wall would do. I backtracked. I found an old Easter gift bag and emptied the small chocolate eggs purchased for our hunt into it. I rifled through the card drawer and by some Easter miracle (ok so hardly a resurrection but surely a signs from Jeebs) I found a card with a bunny on it. I wrote a note –

Check out the authenticity of that paw print…BOOM!

I signed it from the Easter Bunny along with a very authentic looking paw print made from smudged black ink. Then, when their pitiful, disappointed little backs were turned I ran to the top of the garden in my PJ’s to hide it. So there I was desperate, braless, boobs flapping in the icy, Spring (ahem) breeze, hanging a bag of egg shaped chocolates off a tree. Bit weird when you think about it really.

The next conversation with my 6 year old went something like this.

‘Do you know what? I’ve just remembered something? I think last year the daddies did hide the eggs, but weren’t they left somewhere by the Easter Bunny first Daddy?’

(Acting my socks off here by the way. I knew there was a point to all those improvisation workshops I attended in my Drama college days…YES finally putting my acting degree to good use!)

Daddy – ‘Oh yeah. Weren’t they left in the shed or something?’

Me – ‘Yes! So there is an Easter Bunny after all! Quick guys let’s get dressed and go and see!’

And there we have it. Easter was saved. Thank f*ck for that! And all this before 9am.

Yes I was braless when I took this photo but look how happy they are!

So, I don’t know about you lot but I was not prepared for this sh*t. AT. ALL. I have no idea when the Easter Bunny actually became a thing. For this reason I’ve written out a set of…

Easter Bunny Rules & Guidelines

  • Tell your children the Easter Bunny is a fluffy friendly toddler sized creature whose sex cannot be determined, as no one has ever gotten close enough to check.
  • He/She comes in the night to good boys & girls only (yup just like Santa)
  • He/She lays sweets and colourful chocolate eggs and so for this reason you need to leave out a decorated bowl or a basket for him to squeeze them out into. Bit worrying if he is a boy mind you as this means he is actually shitting the eggs out of his hairy little arse. Nice.
  • You must also leave out a carrot (sound familiar?)
  • Check out his movements the night before by logging onto trackeasterbunny.com… but only if you can be bothered.

And there we have it. This is the new Easter. If we could all stick to these rules it will save any future child upset as well as any sh*t mothers like me form ever being screwed over again.

BTW, Just Googled it and apparently the Easter Bunny originated from Germany, from a pagan festival (Wiki said it so MUST be true) and actually has nothing to do with Easter or Christianity at all… fancy that? Funny old life eh? Oh well, as long as the kids are happy.

 

 

 

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