I have had the laziest Easter in human history. So lazy I can’t expound beyond that, except to say that the days leading up to Easter were suitably busy.

Friday, we celebrated Good Friday in the most traditional matter – we went to the science center to see Sue the T. Rex.

Despite what it seems, trans-millinea tragedy was averted.

Normally we would avoid human-filled places on days when school’s out, since no one in this family’s overly fond of masses of humanity. But it was fine. Rather awe-inspiring. Clara Jane loved the whole experience. Of course, we spent more time at Build-a-Dino than in the actual exhibit, buying stuffed dinosaurs with every person in St. Louis.

Saturday, we went for more sedate entertainment; we hit the Sheep Day where we saw … sheep. Clara Jane made a less-terrifying friend:

We also saw bunnies, goats, lambs, border collies, and cloggers, which Clara Jane loves as much as baby lambs. Between the awesome yarn and the clog-dancing lessons Clara Jane wants, this is probably the most expensive sheep show ever attended by people who didn’t buy livestock.

Then we dyed over two dozen eggs.

Saturday night didn’t go quite as well. That creature that tried to leave my head to say hi to Kristina? It succeeded last night. I so want to describe it to you. I sort of wish I’d taken photos. It was just that horrible and disgusting. I’ll just say that you haven’t experienced true horror until you’ve pulled a column of stuff out of the top of your very own head. And the really weird thing is? It’s fine. I don’t know how something that huge came out of my head and didn’t leave a gaping head wound. I washed my hair with tingly tea tree oil shampoo this morning, and it didn’t even hurt.

As for the column of head-meat, I’m mailing it to Kristina. Wonder what kind of label the post office is gonna require for that? I’m going to tell them it’s the filling from a Cadbury Creme Egg.

Before my head exploded, I put Clara Jane to bed. We read the last chapter of “Alice in Wonderland” and the first of “Through the Looking Glass”. About ten minutes after we turned off the lights and snuggled, she asked, “Hey. Is the Easter Bunny a real bunny or just someone in a costume?”

Uuuuuuuuuuh. Questions I don’t want to answer at 9:30 PM after I’ve dozed off, please!

It really hit me, though, that she’s a big kid. This might be the beginning of the end of her belief in the Easter Bunny, Santa, the Tooth Fairy,  and hope for humanity.

I fumbled around and told her something to the extent that it’s not a real bunny, but it’s not a person in a costume. It’s a … special bunny, now go to sleep so he can make his delivery, okay?

This morning, I awoke at 8 AM with hysterical screaming in my ear. “The Easter Bunny was here! He was here!” She actually sounded surprised.

Nothing fixes a lame-ass parental explanation like waking up to a basket full of loot on the dining room table.

As for the rest of the day, I slept, and then got sucked into the Easter snuff films on History Channel. I watched a two-hour special on the science of crucifixion – no wonder my kid’s such a damn cynic.