Bunny Tales (and Feet)

I have a sweet, clever, inquisitive (and blessedly) naive daughter. Earlier today, we ran errands in the car which included picking up Easter egg dye (and dyeable cardboard eggs, and chalkboard eggs. Who knew these existed?)

Inevitably as it would be for a child whose brain never quits, questions about the Easter bunny arose. “Where does he come from?” “Why does he bring eggs?” “How does he carry the eggs and candy?” “How does he get into the house?”

And so on, and so on, all valid questions, none of which have been asked previously, surprisingly, and for none did I have answers. I had no bunny tales for her.

I told her I didn’t know because I focus on the real reason for Easter – Jesus – and she accepted her mom’s lapse in omnipotence.

And opted to go straight to the source.

No, instead, as she is prone to do, she wrote a letter. Yes, to the Easter Bunny. My husband said “he’s a bunny, he can’t write” but heck, if he can deliver mass-produced chocolates and get into locked houses,  I suppose to a girl with a big imagination that it would be possible that he could answer her.




I really do love that girl.

But bunnies can’t write, so I wasn’t going to try to come up with a legitimate response to any of it. Instead, I did what any desperate mom would do at midnight:

I dug into my craft box and found some stamping ink, and then I carved a bunny footprint into an old potato.



As you do when, you feel guilty about cutting back on the amount of Easter candy you bought for their baskets because they still have a bit of candy from Christmas AND Valentine’s Day in the pantry, and then when you pack up the Easter baskets you realize that even you got more candy in your basket when you were a kid (when Easter baskets weren’t competing with Christmas).


What’s a mom to do other than to stamp highly inaccurate bunny prints all over her note, the paper left for his return message and the napkin sitting nearby?



Along with black jelly beans, because we all know that they are just bunny poop.

I don’t mind doing this because I know my efforts were half-hearted at best this year – because of the letter writing, we ran out of time to dye the eggs we bought earlier in the day, leaving me to scrounge for quarters to fill the plastic eggs I dug out of storage and lamely hid around the house, along with some jelly bean filled eggs (black beans picked out, of course).  I don’t want to be the one to squash her childhood beliefs.

Although I AM looking forward, just a bit, to the day when she gets to that place where she no longer believes but doesn’t want to let on so she still gets an Easter basket – you know, that same place I’m pretty sure her big brother resides.

But until then, bunny prints and bunny poop and hidden Easter baskets it is.

Happy Easter!


  1. Gmom Phyl says

    I love it!! I loved your solution, too.

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