John greets me with a big smile and a confession: I wet your bed, Mama. I'm sorry.
A damp start to what was otherwise a perfect day. We hunt for Easter baskets and enjoy a well-rounded breakfast of M & M's, Kit Kats, and Mounds bars.
Mass is beautiful. Our parish knows how to to do high holy days. From the trumpets to the lilies, from the opening chant to the homily -- it was liturgy that lifts the soul to God.
As the day is winding down, I place a blanket ban on all things chocolate. I'm corralling loose candy and consolidating plastic Easter eggs. I've swept up Easter grass at least three times. By now every mother is Christendom is wondering if the person who invented this wretched stuff is the same great mind who introduced birthday gift bags a few decades back.
But stray Easter grass and wet sheets can't diminish a day spent celebrating the hope Christ's resurrection brings into this world, the hope the resurrection brings into my world. Tomorrow we will be back at work and school, Scouts and Social, laundry and grocery shopping. I pray that the Alleluia we sang today at Mass will reach well beyond Easter Sunday into the mundane and ordinary life I enjoy.
We celebrate twelve days of Christmas, but fifty days of Easter. From now until Pentecost, let's dwell on hope.