Easter Passover

I love my family for lots of reasons but this one might have just edged it's way into first place. . .

So, yesterday was Easter and it was a gorgeous day and Jesus rose from the dead or something (I'm just fuzzy on how. I must have snuck out of mass to get the good donuts the day they explained HOW and WHERE Jesus rose from the dead like some sort of zombie movie character - like, did he claw his way out of a grave, or was he still above ground, laying there, and then coughed a few times, until he choked out some sea water (because when people start breathing again in movies it's always because they've got sea water in their lungs) and was like, "Hey, what happened? Where am I?" And why didn't people freak the f$*k out when he was all "Oh hey I'm still here"?!?! Or maybe they did? I DON'T KNOW!) (SEE Mom and Dad! This is why it's weird to raise your kids half Catholic and half Jewish - I have no idea what happened in what religion! Not to mention the fact that I'm never sure which sort of guilt is creeping in when it creeps in, and then they just combine into like this Jew-Catholic super-guilt that can simultaneously make me feel guilty for not calling my Bauba more, and having impure thoughts about Christian Slater in Gleaming the Cube, even though Bauba has been dead for years, and I haven't seen Gleaming the Cube since I was thirteen.)

Anyway. . . it was Easter. And Passover. And if there's one thing the Jew-Catholic combo is good at, it's eating. Lots and lots of eating. And after everyone had seconds, and then thirds, we sat around the table talking and enjoying each others company while we all tried to hide the fact we were unbuttoning our pants under the table, so full that we vowed not to eat again for an entire week.

Or for about five minutes.

Because literally, five minutes after we all groaned at our plates, Becky looks around and says, "Where'd that box of donuts go?"

"Oooh, that sounds good."

"Yeah I could go for something sweet."

"What do you mean you could go for something sweet, you just ate a handful of jelly beans to wash down your cheesy eggs and bacon."

"That's different."

"Yeah, she's right. Donuts don't count."

"Someone find that box!"


So, the donuts came out. And that's not even the good part. The good part, is that once Becky picked her favorite donut, she tore into it only to find that it was *gasp* NOT cream filled, like it should have been. So what did she do? She didn't give up - because Sterns aren't quitters when it comes to donuts - no, she grabbed the whip cream, cream cheese mixture E had out for the fruit dip, and proceeded to glop that sucker into her chocolate long john.

And that. . . THAT is why I love my family.





And then Nels joined in, because I mean . . . c'mon. . . it's Easter! If you can't fill a donut with cream cheese and whip cream on Easter then WHEN CAN YOU?




*sigh*

I love donuts.


Anyway, my Mom is really lucky we were so distracted with acting like we were at some sort of Wisconsin County Fair where everything we ate needed to be cream filled or deep fried, because she grabbed the baby the instant they walked in the door and wouldn't share her for a single second.

But c'mon, look at this face - I wouldn't have shared either.