Bunnies and Chickens

This is what the chocolate bunny looks like after Natalie's Easter grazing. I don't know why it made me laugh so hard, but it did. One minute he was a cute little chocolate bunny sitting on the table, and the next time I looked over, he looked like he'd been through a battle. Missing one eye, both ears, and a foot. I didn't even see her do it.

We had a very low-key Easter, which was nice. I made an attempt at homemade waffles this morning. For those familiar with my cooking skills, it will come as no surprise that they were a flop. I got angry, insisting that I followed the recipe exactly, and the funny taste must have come from the waffle maker somehow. Then I realized...it was supposed to be 3 tsp of baking powder and not 3 TB of baking powder. Oops. I guess that will do it. Jim laughing about it did NOT help my mood.

The kids enjoyed hunting for eggs this morning, although I think Liam was having a hard time accepting the whole Easter Bunny idea. This probably stems from seeing the bunny at the mall the other day, when Liam declared, "That's a person in a suit!" I am so bad at lying about this. The bunny suit seems totally ridiculous to me as well.

The one thing I am okay with lying about, or at least glossing over in an intentional way, is the source of the meat we eat. I know, this is not something I should hide or turn into something shameful. But this is the boy who has such a strong gag reflex that he can vomit before an odd-looking (or not so odd-looking, but perhaps not the exact same shape, texture, color, or smell as expected) morsel comes within an inch of his lips.

So the other day I was talking about growing vegetables in a garden (talking is much different than actually doing, mind you), and Liam said he wanted to grow chicken. To which I replied, without thinking, "No, silly, chicken doesn't grow on plants! Chicken comes from chickens! You know, chickens. Cluck, cluck. They live on farms."

Liam just said, "No, Mom, not that kind of chicken. The kind you eat. You know, with the skin (breading) around it."

And I looked at his innocent little face, and I realized that if I pointed out his mistake in this matter, there would be a very good chance that his food groups would be reduced by one more category (meat). This would leave possibly only Dairy, until the whole milking a cow's udder to make cheese conversation ensues. So I just smiled and told him we wouldn't be growing chicken. Mommy will be the only chicken living here.