It’s been one of those weekends where I’ve been comparing everything I do to my parents, my Aunts, to everything that was my childhood. I do this an inevitably feel like a failure because I don’t have a family Easter dinner planned, and because I’m shopping for Easter basket treats at 9 o’clock on Easter Sunday morning. I feel like a failure because laundry didn’t get done, and because everything with the grandparents was last minute, and because the basket doesn’t look quite how I’d like, and the house is more cluttered than it should be. I feel like a failure because part of me just wants to curl up with a book, and part of me knows the front garden beds look terrible, and probably always will because I just don’t enjoy outdoors work and never have, actually.
Yet, when I think about this weekend, there was much to celebrate too. I did a lot of cleaning on Friday, and we had a family outing to the park to do the city Easter egg hunt before Sabbath School, and there was a massive pile in the bed while reading Bible stories, and we did do an egg hunt and a basket. Most importantly Boyo seemed to enjoy that. It’s okay that his breakfast was a yogurt instead of bunny pancakes and lunch was vegetables and couscous rather than Sunday Easter dinner. It’s all right that my house isn’t perfectly clean, cause we made memories today and that’s what counts.