Easter arrived, along with its confusing messages and rabbits hatching out of eggs.
On Good Friday, we, along with every single other family in Enfield, went to Capel Manor for an Easter trail, finding clues, bunnies and queues in the beautiful grounds. The weather was glorious. They ran about all over the park, and all that discovering took its toll. Not to worry, I explained that a few sniffs of the magical flowers would give them energy they needed to carry on to our picnic spot. Lunch scoffed, they took it in turns to give me a heart attack by jumping over a water feature, before we headed off to find the maze.
Unfortunately, the maze was at the end of a record breaking queue. But adjacent to it I spied a formal garden, not un-maze-like to the untrained eye. Masterfully, Jet managed to reach the middle of the not-maze within minutes, an event which he celebrated by leaping up and down and demanding to be photographed doing so, which resulted in this little gem 🙂
Saturday was dedicated to some Pinterest-worthy Easter crafting, starting with Easter shredded wheat thingies. Simple, yet effective. But somehow I managed to take my eye off the ball long enough to ruin the chocolate, which went from slowly melting to split in the time it takes to say ‘Stop sprinkling that on the cat’. Soldiering on with the grainy, brown, oily mass resulted in some remarkably unpleasant nests. Who knew it was possible to combine golden syrup, butter, mini eggs and chocolate with such disgusting results? The solidified butter layer which appeared at the bottom once the mix had been refrigerated wasn’t what I had in mind, but didn’t seem to put the kids off.
Jet had come home from nursery with a minimalist collaged foam rabbit. “It’s only got one ball,” he explained, without any sense irony. This prompted me to get the children to make their own chicks. Jet even cut out his own. Perhaps inspired by their recent bout of chicken pox, he decorated it with a smattering of red spots. Stella went to town, applying layers of glue and plentiful sequins to her chick, although she didn’t always manage to put the sequins on top of the glue. I had, very clearly I thought, drawn the chicks in profile, but for some reason they both stuck two eyes on. I blame Peppa Pig.
On Sunday we decided to do our Easter egg hunt. As I am able to exercise extreme restraint when it comes to the children’s chocolate consumption, if not my own, a modest number of small foil wrapped things were to be secreted around the living room for them to find. About two hours before the fun was due to begin, I looked around at the detritus amassed on the carpet and thought I had better clear up a bit to give them any hope of spotting eggs amongst the scattered pompoms, magnetic letters and lego bricks that ordinarily litter our floor, alongside the shiny remains of our crafting session.
Chris took the kids out on a toilet paper hunt, a less glamorous cousin to the Easter egg hunt, which involved a tour of several local supermarkets that Google had promised would be open, but were not. Despite this, they returned slightly earlier than I had anticipated and before I had the chance to get dressed. Thus, whilst Chris filmed the eager basket-wielders, I hopped, bunny-like, out of shot, not wishing to show my pyjamas to posterity.
Stella found her first egg and, satisfied, sat down to try and unwrap and eat it. Meanwhile, Jet was running about finding most of the others and exclaiming incredulously, “In the fire place!? That’s not where they go!” Once it had been explained and demonstrated a few times though she was away. Jet magnanimously shared the eggs he’d found using his extra life experience, “Here you go Missis. This one’s for you!” Rather sweetly, he kept popping eggs into her basket, but he did make sure that he got the biggest one. Then on to mum and dad’s for an epic roast.
We awoke on Bank Holiday Monday to see that the tree outside the front of our house had blown down. It had weighed up its options and obligingly fallen along the pavement, causing a minimum of damage. Not wishing to miss the excitement of seeing it being cleared, we stayed in to observe the consternation of dog walkers and other passers by – what else is there to do in such circumstances?
A bit of spring cleaning, some over indulgence and plenty of family time… And what British Bank Holiday weekend would be complete without some truly terrible weather that comes just at the right time to ensure no one really remembers the good weather that also happened? All that was missing was DIY, so on Tuesday we started on the garden.