I made the decision to stay away from family this Easter for several reasons: a) I don't like watching Jesus be dragged through the streets on Passion of the Christ while my kids try to enjoy Easter chocolate, b) my parents are going through a bizarre and messy divorce and I didn't want to deal with it, c)it is a long and scream-filled drive to my parents' house, and d) I simply wanted to relax at home with my children.
I am happy to say that this was the correct decision. My father harassed my brother about the size of his ears and the level of his religiosity. This ended in a fight, after which my father and my brother sped off in their respective vehicles. When my five year old brother asked for the easter egg hunt he was promised, my stepmom told him the easter bunny drove away, that there would be no more hunt. My sister, who is 9 months pregnant, hid the eggs outside, the hunt was on, everyone ate, and they went home. The entire ordeal took six hours, if you count the drive in each direction.
Damn. I missed it.
Instead, we had an easter egg hunt with the boys, and colored eggs and lazed about at our house and my in-laws', sipping beer and blowing bubbles for Ben in the shade, laughing and catching up. I was truly relaxed. I feel no guilt whatsoever. I have got to put myself and my family in healthy, happy, relaxing situations, and just say fuck it to the rest. I can't express how much I don't care. I don't care so much that this lack of care is an actual force I can feel, radiating beams of apathy directly from my body to Indio, California. It's like the Care Bears, except its just me and I'm not saving anyone. And I'm not a fruit-colored bear. So really, it's not at all like the Care Bears.