Life of Wry

Way out of sorts this morning.  Feeling uneasy and unsettled, my knickers in a gnarly sorta twist, apparently. Going to try to sort it out here, so bear with me.

The ambivalence of Easter is upon me. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized…ah yes, Easter Sunday coming up. Tomorrow. My adult self doesn’t really have a pony in this pasture, but my mom self is all confused. At least, I think it’s my mom self.

I’ve never really landed on an Easter tradition that makes sense to me. As a grownup in the world, reasonably secure in my own beliefs and priorities, I’m quite okay with it. It’s just Easter; I don’t celebrate this. Hell, I don’t even know what it’s all about. In my marriage to Jim, who’s completely on a remote end of the spectrum when it comes to holiday traditions (as but one example), I’m even more okay with it. Together, we are good. We pursue our normal Sunday morning activities, even though it’s Easter. All is good.

But, man, as a mom, I feel like I’m dropping some kind of ball.

I don’t feel like we should go to a sunrise service, become Christians for the day, or pretend in any other way that the day holds any sort of spiritual meaning to us. Of course it doesn’t. But I still feel like we’re a family in search of an Easter ritual…an acknowledgment that it’s Easter Sunday and, while we don’t have a religious practice, we do do this, or that, whatever, whenever the day comes around.

Like, in years past.  We have an egg hunt in the backyard (long since discontinued) or join friends for a multiple-families hunt (again, that was long ago discontinued), or we pull out our special recipe for hot cross buns (um, maybe two–unsuccessful–attempts at that, just.. because), or we join family for a brunch (happened a few times) or a lamb dinner (again, maybe a few times), or hide a basket (happened for a few years, post hunt days). Sort of all over the map, here.   And all that was at least fun, right?  I’m pretty sure it was. Easy, fun, uncomplicated.

But family’s not gathering this year. Kid’s too old for Easter egg hunts. Now what?

I don’t even remember last year.

Ah, just looked it up.. we left the house at 5:30am on Easter Sunday for a flight to Boston… we went to New England & New York for spring break last year. Problem solved.   (Nice!)

Not having a ready response to the holiday, a place to go, a tradition to routinely fall back on, I feel like I’m cheating my kid out of something. He’s still just 15… these are the remember years! He’s got to have something.  Mom guilt.

I fight this. I mean, what the f is that? A ritual in search of meaning?! Part of me feels a need to create ritual that leads to childhood memories.. this mom self aches for her son to carry with him cherished memories of holidays, summers, every developmental phase of his life with its attendant milestones. While the other side, the comfortable, wise self, desires simply authenticity. We don’t celebrate Easter; we are not Christians. You’ve outgrown egg hunts, sweetheart. It’s okay. Please, let’s dispense with the hypocrisy. So unattractive.

See? Totally unsettled.

So, a couple hours ago, I assuaged my Easter dis-ease with a hastily assembled basket of stuff for Peter to enjoy when he got back from a sleepover. Yes, between Jim’s and my return from our usual Sunday breakfast at Bernardo’s (now there’s a tradition I gratefully, totally relax into), and Peter’s coming home, I got a panicked notion to fill a basket.  It was short on chocolate bunnies, but otherwise respectably filled with items from the Easter box. I do have one of those, a vestige from the olden days, a collection of random Easter-related, pastel-colored paraphernalia. Many years in the making, many attempts at tradition-building… I do have a very serviceable collection of shredded, pastel filling, dozens of plastic eggs, bunny ears, mini-baskets, paper plates, etc, etc.  So, into his giant, colorful, wicker, egg-shaped basket went a chocolate bar (I found stashed in the freezer from a trip to IKEA a few months ago), a couple plastic eggs that I stuffed with bendy bunnies, another with chocolate chips (which we always have around), and one more with a $20 (desperation money). The box also produced some bunny toys (the kind you press down on and the bunny flies toward some determined target), a wire whisk (with egg-shaped grip) and a ceramic egg cup (the kind you use for soft-boiled eggs). Totally random stuff. I guess you could say I had an egg theme going. And I know… what’s he gonna do with those things?  It’s just…  having a basket.  For some reason, I needed to do this so the day would be marked, if even in an unremarkable way. I couldn’t really bear not doing it.  Because, you know, Easter ambivalence and mom guilt. That’s an eye-rolling cocktail.

But now, we’re kinda good with the universe. Glad Peter got a little something, a token nod to Easter. The holiday did not go un-recognized. And… part of me is unhappy that I succumbed.

Yeah.. my insecure little universe.

And I’m left with the same questions.  Because, you know, this shit inevitably comes up at Christmas, on our wedding anniversary, on Valentines Day..  some of it works, but a lot of it is desperation tradition.  And I have to wonder, what is that?  At my age, I don’t get to blame the usual suspects.  I don’t get to blame the media which of course bombards us with Martha-esque holiday perfection at every turn. That’s old news and too easy. Yawn. Fall for that, it’s your own damn fault.  Or, god, social media, Facebook, on whose pages runs a steady stream of cheery holiday pics. I never feel lost and hopeless in that. (Progress, I think. Yay adult me.)  I also don’t want to blame my childhood, my parents and that whole thing.. like I was somehow deprived of this or that and don’t want my son to experience the same  (uh, really?!, please, that’s just tiresome, largely manufactured, false compensation, at least complicated, and simply doesn’t get to enter into this anymore).

I have to understand: it’s me, my little unrest, my little first world demon, and I just need to deal with it. Hopefully posthaste.

Because, Jesus. It’s only Easter.