"Mom, look at these!" Jake is sitting at the table surrounded by mugs filled with menacing-looking dyes, white hard boiled eggs and newspapers. "Wow, they really are dark this year," he marvels at his handiwork. He continues to dip and talk to the eggs as if they they are going to reply,
"Why yes, I enjoy being purple. Care to bring me a glass of wine while I dry?"
He lines them up in a row and admires them.
"I can't wait to have devilled eggs tomorrow, " he grins at me while I wash the dishes. "They are even better then dying the eggs. Remember when we used to have egg dying parties?"
Remember when. How can I forget? I think back to the days where I was stuck in Martha-land, faithfully creating everything from jelly bean trees to bunny ear hats, bunny shaped pancakes, and parties for fifteen three year olds in the back yard. I even let them throw raw eggs at the house. It was madness. Fun madness, but still, my husband thought I'd lost my mind. He's not the holiday type. While I am the one to dye milk green for St. Patrick's Day, decorate the windows and make heart shaped treats for Valentine's day, he doesn't really care. Forget elaborate turkey dinners, give him a ham sandwich and he's happy.
"Honey, I'm HOME!" Handy Dad announces as he bursts through the front door. "I have something for you!" There he is, standing in the doorway with a small white bakery box in his hands.
"Huh?" I'm confused, because this is totally unexpected. My husband, who really only celebrates Christmas and never usually gives any other holiday so much as a nod, has brought me something.
With anticipation, I slowly open the box. Hiding inside is a tiny chocolate ganache cake. All for me. The smooth, dark icing and flaky chocolate curls are beckoning me to have a taste.
"For ME?! How incredibly sweet of you!" I hug and kiss him with abandon, drooling over the sweet smelling gift.
"Well, you can't eat our Easter chocolate so I thought you'd like this," he smiles broadly, looking very pleased with himself. "I even ordered it on Thursday." I gently put the cake in the fridge. I think we'll save this until tomorrow.
The next morning I stumble into the kitchen to make my morning toast and Jake comes running.
"Where is the Easter Bunny? Why didn't he come?" he pants, as if he has scoured the house for treats and come up short. There's a wild, panicked look in his eyes.
"Sweetie, the bunny comes tomorrow, remember?" My eyes are still blurry as I reach for the bread to pop in the toaster.
"But we have pumpkin pie today, right?" he's spinning, dancing, practically jumping up and down with excitement.
"TOMORROW. I am making the pie today, but we have our dinner tomorrow. Be patient."
I reach in the fridge for the butter to spread on my toast and see the cake box sitting there innocently. I obviously can't eat the whole thing myself, unless I want to be sick. It sits there in the light of the fridge, mocking me. You must eat me soon or I'll go stale, and who would waste a chocolate ganache cake? I have no choice. I must share it. Besides, I don't want to gain 10 pounds, either.
"I suppose we could share the cake tonight-after all, I can't eat it all myself." I announce while my head is still in the fridge. Both Jake and Handy Dad immediately perk up.
"You see, that's what I was thinking," Handy Dad calls from the couch in the living room.
Somehow I don't think that cake was just for me after all.