The Easter Bunny

It's getting close to Easter and I have one of my favorite Easter books in my fort, "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes".  I read it slowly, and look at all of the pictures closely, and think about how the little Cottontail bunny did what she did.  She was small, like me, and from the country, like me, and had lots of kids - well, I have lots of brothers and sisters - and she did Great Things.  Maybe that means one day, I can do Great Things, too?  I promise myself that I will help my mom more, and not complain.

It's a Wednesday night, and that means my Dad is home for supper.  I go into the kitchen to ask my mom if I can help with dinner.  "You can peel some potatoes," she suggests.  So I go to the cupboard under the sink and count out some potatoes.  She keeps them there, mom told me, because it's cooler there and they won't grow their eyes so fast.  I count 10 big fat ones and dump them into the sink, and look for the peeler that works.  There are two, but one doesn't peel as good as the other one and if someone else comes to help, I don't want to get stuck using THAT one!

Sure enough, just after I get started, Francis comes into the kitchen so I get him to help.  He brings in the stool from the bathroom so he can reach up to the sink, and I give him the other peeler.  "You won't cut yourself with this one," I say.  We peel the potatoes, and I show Francis how I can make one big long peel, but I'm not able to do the whole potato without the peel breaking at least once.  (It works better with oranges.) Francis is having a harder time; I tell him it's because his hands are small and we compare our palms.  We hang the twisty potato peels on our ears, like earrings, and laugh!  He reminds me of a little elf when he laughs.  Mom helps us finish the potatoes and puts them on the stove, and then Francis is gone, called back into a game in the living room.

Paul helps me set the table because I go too slow, he says, and because he is STARVING.  Starving to DEATH.  Things get really busy in the kitchen - mom is finishing cooking and getting the high chair set up for Scott; Peter is just coming into the house from somewhere; Philip is looking to see if dinner's ready yet; the phone starts ringing for someone.  Then Dad comes in and suddenly everything settles down.  After a mad dash for a "good spot", everyone moves in around the table and it's time to say Grace.

We always say Grace together, but we don't hold hands or anything too weird like that.  Imagine Paul and I holding hands - ha!  That'll be the day.  Then everything gets passed around and we all dig in.  Well, some of us dig in more than others; Peter and Pat have "hollow legs" my mom says.  We all think Peter uses a shovel instead of a fork or spoon; at least his food disappears as though he's using one.

It's quiet for a bit on the bench where I'm sitting, and I look over at little Scottie on the highchair beside mom.  He must have had a busy day, because as I'm watching him his eyes are rolling and his head is nodding and I stop and watch.  I give John, beside me, an elbow, "Look!" I whisper.

"Ouch, what do you want, geez," says John, complaining about my sharp elbows.

"Look at Scott, he's falling asleep!"

Francis has been watching John and I, and we all turn at the same time to watch Scott's head slowly nod down into his mashed potatoes.  The three of us burst out laughing, and Scott's long eyelashes, now full of potatoes, bat open and he looks at us, surprised.  His little lip starts to quiver, but Mom - who really does have eyes in the back of her head! - saves the day and scoops Scott up into her arms and, I guess, into bed.

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, and Dad asks us kids to do the dishes... that starts some action.  Peter jumps up and says something about "homework" and heads down into the basement.  Anne starts gathering the plates, Francis and John disappear into the living room (but I hear them being round up to go into the bath tub), so that leaves Pat and Tom and Phil and Paul and me to help Anne.  The clean-up crew.

In our kitchen there are two sinks side-by-side  - one is for washing, the other is for rinsing.  I know that Anne will wash - I like to wash and play in the bubbles but it takes me too long.  Plus, I like to be the Rinser.  I get the clean dishes from Anne, inspect them and if they are clean, give them a rinse and then put them on the dish rack for the dryers.  If they are NOT clean, back they go!  That's fun when you're the Rinser, but not when you're the Washer.  Usually, there are two Driers because Anne is so fast, and not many have to go back in.  Then somebody to bring the dishes over TO the Washer, and someone else to put the dishes away.  This makes me think again of "The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes".  We're just like those good little bunnies in the book, everyone with a job to do.

That's when Paul decides that HE wants to be the Rinser, and he pushes me off the stool.  I push him back, and then we're into it.  Anne keeps her head down at the sink (she's probably got better things to do and just wants to get this over with), but Pat gets into the spirit and starts to flick his damp dish-drying cloth at me and Paul.  We dance around the kitchen trying to evade the "SNAP!" of the cloth.  Philip is cleaning up - his version - he's eating the leftovers so that they don't have to be put away in the fridge.  Tom is rolling his eyes at us as he dries the dishes, and then of course, just as it's getting fun, I get snapped really hard.

"Ouch!" I cry, and, still surprised, just stand there, crying, "That really hurt, you know!  It's not funny!"

They are all laughing at me.  Paul laughs too, "Cry-Baby!" he says to me.

I stomp out of the kitchen, my leg still smarting from the snap, and my feelings hurt by the laughing and name-calling.  My tears feel hot on my cheeks.

"Fine," I say, over my shoulder, "You finish the dishes on your OWN then!" and I march right back to my room and into my fort.

I lay on my bed and squeeze my eyes closed, wiping them with  the sheets. As I calm down, I listen to the house sounds - Pat is still snapping in the kitchen but it sounds like someone else has joined in and is snapping him back; Francis and John are making whale-noises in the tub.  I look over at my book and the Country Bunny is looking back at me with her perfect line-up of little bunny children.  She makes it look so easy.  Why does it always seem so much harder in Real Life?  Well, I guess maybe I won't be an Easter Bunny after all... but who knows, maybe I can still do Great Things one day!

(The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes, by Du Bose Heyward)