First Easter
April 20, 2025 — 7:56pm
Dear Reese,
It’s sunny all morning, your first Easter. Your Mama A comes up with your big sister for the night, and we stay at the cottage (more space, even though MorMor and Cappi are in Madison). Last night we ate pizza outside at Pizza Bros — mac & cheese pizza is your favorite, of course. Today, I cook us Easter brunch.
I know—me—providing a meal for more than just you and me. But I was backed into a corner on this one, darling. MorMor made coffee cake for us to heat up, and I manage to cut strawberries, scramble eggs, and cook a sheet of bacon. This is not a big deal for most people on a normal morning, but for me, it feels Herculean.
It all turns out very nicely — I remember what MorMor always says about cooking eggs slowly and they are fluffy and delicious. I eat almost half of the coffee cake by myself.
Really, the whole weekend turns out nicely. I was nervous hosting on my own and taking care of you, but beautiful weather, everyone sleeping through the night, and each beat going according to plan made it a really nice weekend. Though I was in need of some quiet time this afternoon and so were you. You took a two-hour nap, and I listened to podcasts while taking a hot shower and slowly putting the cottage back together.
Other features of your first Easter include:
Easter baskets filled with goodies — teethers and bunnies and a giant stuffed frog (in tribute to The Great Bullfrog of our stories)
An egg hunt around the cottage before breakfast. Your sister shares the eggs she finds by dropping them into your basket as we follow her around the yard.
A fort in the sunroom. Your sister builds you a room and brings all your favorite toys so you’ll have a good time there. You do.
A nap in the Jeep wagon in the morning. Your sister tells a story about a chicken nugget land.
Swinging side by side while I recount your bathtime story adventures so far.
A very cute Easter dress.
I am glad that we were with some family on Easter. It’s not a holiday I’ve been acknowledging for a while now, and to be hones,t I wasn’t prepared to celebrate at all. Your Mama A’s reminder and subsequent enthusiasm brought back some of that childhood joy. Someday, I imagine egg hunts all over the backwoods.
Love,
Mama
The Knight & The Cursed Forest, Part 11
Leaving the basilisk twisted up in the tree trunks, you and the duck squire continue through the forest. The fog, thick for hours, finally starts to clear as the trail climbs upwards. As you reach the summit of a hill, you’re able to look out at the forest stretching ahead of you. Finally, you recognize this place — you’re almost home.
It’s getting late, so you suggest that you and duck camp here for the night.
“If we’re so close to your home, can’t we go there now and rest with your family?”
You shake your head. “The curse is strongest at night. It’s better if we wait until morning.”
The duck presses you to learn more about the curse, but you hold back — hopefully, you say, it won’t matter because whatever magic has awakened within you will break it.
But you’re not sure.
Instead, you ask the duck why he followed you all the way out here.
“I had a friend who left for an adventure a while ago,” the ducks says. “She asked me to go with her, but I was too scared. I always regretted not taking the leap. I’m lucky I got a second chance.”
“Maybe we’ll run into her somewhere,” you say.
”Maybe,” the duck says, a little wistfully.
In the morning, you and the duck head down the forest trail, back into a light fog, and to your home. You come to the stream that borders your part of the forest. There’s a little wooden bridge that’s been there your whole life. Sitting in the middle of the bridge is a cat.
You narrow your eyes. “We meet again, Mr. Whiskers.”
To be continued.