You know your kids are getting old when you mention the Easter Bunny and one of them responds with profanity. But he responds to everything with profanity.
We made a weekend trip to Jen's hometown in Illinois. Ethan said it was so deserted it was like being in a zombie video game.
That evening we went to "supper" at 5:30 at one of the two local restaurants--the one that was open in the "evening."
Yesterday Samuel and Grandpa hung out talking hard drives.
We had an early Easter dinner at Jen's sister's house in the country. The women cook all the food, then the men are served first. My opinion? As long as midwestern farmers don't come to my Upper West Side apartment and lecture me on how much I should tip the sushi delivery guy, their food-serving traditions are none of my business either. The food was great, by the way.
Feeling about ten pounds heavier, I floated the idea to Samuel and Ethan of walking the five miles back to town. They agreed.
About a half mile down the road we came to a farm that reminded Samuel of Old Man Peabody's farm from "Back to the Future."
Later we took a shortcut through a cornfield, almost stepped on a dead skunk, were attacked by a swarm of gnats, and debated whether cows squat to poop.
On the edge of town, we threw rocks at a barn. And mostly missed.
It was a good Easter.