Please don't ask Scarlett what the Easter Bunny brought her, because I, as the worst and most tired mother ever, did not actually get around to mailing in our letters to the Easter Bunny or filling out the requisition forms, or whatever it is one does to get the rabbit to show up and drop off a treat filled basket. Call CPS if you want, but I would hope that the bureaucrats would take pity on a very pregnant lady who was sick of all things pastel and sugar.
She's still pretty psyched about all the egg hunts we've been on this year, and as far as she is concerned the Big Bunny shows up someplace, hides a bunch of eggs [or in our case just scatters them about on the lawn and calls it a day] and then she gets to pick up as many as she can hold and put them in her basket. Trust me, she gets it.
Of course, I was planning on holding off on telling her that there was anything inside the eggs, but someone blew that for us when he rifled through them, looking for the good chocolate. We now understand not only what candy is, but that Mommy was a big fat liar when she told us that M&M's are solely for consumption on airplanes.
It couldn't last. I guess I knew that.