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a tisket, a tasket, i sniff my easter basket

4/5/2010

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Gus has an incredible sense of smell. Taking medicine of any kind requires him to perform a complex hybrid dance of nose-holding and tongue calisthenics. When he was just two years old we hid trace amounts of his prescribed medicine in a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. After I set the bowl down, Gus took one whiff and pushed the bowl away. "This ice cream smells like medicine," he said.

This year, the Easter Bunny (aka "this guy who likes dressing up like a bunny and hiding eggs and stuff in people's yards") brought the boys identical Easter baskets with identical Ugly Dolls.

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Gus has seen the Ugly Dolls at a variety of stores around town, and he's been asking for one forever. This doll's name is Big Toe. When I told the boys that, they immediately sniffed their dolls to see if they smelled like big toes (something I would never have thought to do in a million years.)

"HE SMELLS LIKE FAIRY TALES!" Gus said. (Fairy Tales is the name of the store where I bought the dolls.)

"Give me that," I said, and took a whiff of Big Toe.

I couldn't smell a thing. Nothing. It didn't smell like the store. It didn't smell like a big toe. It didn't smell like ANYTHING. I don't even think of Fairy Tales as having a particular smell. Certain stores do for sure. Like Dollar General, for example. That place has a distinct scent. A scent that evidently penetrates the packaging of the food products sold there, because the Easter before last, Gus was all, "THESE JELLY BEANS SMELL LIKE THE DOLLAR STORE!" 

Every year I think Gus is going to put it all together and stop believing. And every year he chooses to suspend his disbelief a little longer:

"It was really nice of the Easter Bunny to go to Fairy Tales and get us these Ugly Dolls, wasn't it Mom?"

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Yes, that Easter Bunny's one heck of a guy.
He's still got Patrick convinced.


Patrick who is still so sweetly terrible at finding hidden objects. He just doesn't see them! I want to shout LOOK UP! LOOK UP! IT'S RIGHT THERE! He wanders around the yard without a trace of urgency. Each egg he stumbles upon comes as a pleasant surprise. He's not counting or hoarding or racing ... he's just enjoying this time.
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And so am I. Just enjoying this time while it lasts.

It occurs to me now that I don't remember when I stopped believing in the Easter Bunny. Santa was the big revelation for me at age seven, and I suppose my belief in the rest of our Gift Giving Entities petered out from there. (In my defense, I was still an only child, with a very clever and creative mother who probably had all of my gifts de-scented to be extra careful).

How long did your kids believe in the Easter Bunny? Did they figure it out on their own or did they force you to break the news?

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    yours. truly.

    Amanda O'Brien is the author and sole proprietress of Blabbermouse, a blog she launched in February of 2005.

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