Revenge of a 10 year old

It was my birthday this week. I turned old. Like, official old. The big 2 1.

It was awesome because Taylor the husband is awesome.

Here are a few pictures from the day:

Now, I have a story to tell you. A story from about eleven years ago.  It's related to my birthday, but first I have to tell you about Easter.

It was Easter time. 

Easter was a well-celebrated holiday in my family. It still is. It's actually my mom's favorite holiday. In the childhood years, we would visit all the grandparents and the great grandparents. Easter baskets were discovered that morning with little gifts inside. We would go to church. The normal stuff.

On the nights before Easter, I would stay up looking for the Easter bunny, the same way I did for Santa. I would look into the backyard. "Look" doesn't define my obsessive search. I would bore my eyes into the landscape, daring anything to move. Should something like a twig sway in its place, I would focus a death glare onto it. I'm pretty sure that I was boring my eyes so hard that I was starting to receive revelations of the future.

I would stare long enough that I started seeing shapes. Dark, unidentifiable shapes. Immediately I'd call out to my sisters, "I think I see him! Right there! Underneath the bushes! He's right there!!!" My parents always laughed, but I never understood why.

On this particular year, 11 years ago, I did all the things I was supposed to. And it came and went how it should. But then I noticed my dad enjoying a bag of robin's eggs. The candy ones, mind you.

Even writing this out, I can taste those things. They're chocolate covered malt candies. Similar, but not the same tasting as whoppers. They're colored dyed to look like bird eggs. 

They were my favorite Easter candy.

I asked my dad if I could have some. He said no. Shocking, I know. Why would he not want to give me anymore candy than what I had gorged on earlier?

10 year old me didn't care. I asked again. And again. I started to whine. He didn't give in. I'm starting to get frustrated. "Just one, daddy? Can't I just have one?" I wheedled.

I'll stop right there because I'm getting annoyed at my younger self for being so annoying.

Bottom line: I didn't get the candy. Whining didn't do a lick of good. But I thought up a sweet idea for revenge.

I stamped my foot (yes, really) and said "FINE, Daddy. When I'm... like... (desperately thinks of a big number that will surely put him in his place)... TWENTY-ONE, I'm going to get my very own bag of robin's eggs and eat it ALL BY MYSELF and not share with anyone!" 

To which I stormed off and went to play with my stuffed animals and promptly forget the whole thing.

This is it, guys. This is the year. I am now 21 years old. 
Easter isn't for another 8 months, but I'm counting down. Marking the calendar. Setting reminders on my phone. This will be the year that I fulfill my 10 year old promise. It would be a crime to not own up.

It will be so, so awesome.

Realistically though, I'll probably eat a handful and then be done with it. Because that is a lot of candy. And Taylor doesn't like them, so I can't share it with him.

I'll have to check my journal as a ten year old and check for any clauses in that promise.

1 comment:

  1. Chaun you are hilarious and adorable! Becky


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