Easter Sunday rears its ham-heavy head

Good times have been had by all. Easter has always been one of my favorite holidays. Probably sandwiched between Christmas and Halloween, sitting over Thanksgiving. It's a beautiful time of year. Granted, it's over-commercialized, and most people who celebrate the holiday are really just chocolate bunny junkies looking to get a fix, and the Easter bunny has always bewildered me, but there is nothing quite like going to church on Easter morning and singing "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" and letting yourself be completely filled with joy. At Mom's church for the sunrise service (Sam wore his pajamas), I felt that way: full of joy. Just imagine! You think your best friend is dead, and then he's there, in front of you, telling you that he's risen from the grave. My heart was filled so full that I thought it might leap from my chest. I couldn't help but think of the other people I've wished to see again: Dad, Robert, Dave Norton, Uncle Paul, Jon Birdnow, Geneva, Papa Ira, Mama Sue.

We had a big breakfast after the service (this is a tiny church, and nearly everyone who goes there is related to me. So boy, can they cook) and Sam chowed down big time. After the breakfast, we went home to dress Sam in his Easter suit and then it was off to another church service at my aunts' church.

I love their church. At home, I go to a Lutheran church, and I was raised Methodist, but every once in a while, I feel the need to go to a Pentecostal service to get sort of re-charged with the Holy Spirit. And that's what you get there. From the moment the service started, I just felt full of the Spirit. Full of joy. Not contentment, but bouncing, bubbling, crazy joy. And I feel that way every time I go to a service there. Sam liked it, too. This little Lutheran kid waved his hands in the air like he had been doing that his whole life. He was so excited to be able to dance and squeal in church! He praised like you're supposed to praise: without shame, without worrying what people might think, like, literally, there was no tomorrow.

We spent this Easter in Tennessee so that Sam could be with his girly cousins. (I say "girly" because they are, in fact, girls, not because they only wear pink. I mean, they do wear a lot of pink, but that's because you can't find girl's clothes in any other color. The same reason Sam always wears blue. Anyway, they're girls. The end.) Pookie is six months older than Sam, and Doodle Bug is two weeks younger. (No, these are not their real names. Where do you think we're from? West Virginia?) It is incredibly cute to have the three of them together, with their round cheeks and blue eyes. They don't look a whole lot alike, but their hair is in the same color family, and they're all nearly the same size. They aren't first cousins, but I hope they grow up as close as I was with my first cousins. So close, in fact, that it's really important to me that my kid spends time with my cousins' kids, and not just because they're cute together. Sam is around other kids pretty often, especially for a kid who has never spent a day in Mother's Morning Out or day care, and has only spent an hour, tops, in the church nursery. He's pretty clingy. But we play with Baby Girl and Preacher's Kid pretty often, and he is around tons of people at the theater. I'm just not prepared to offer him a sibling yet, so I think it's good that he gets some socialization, and family ties are invaluable.

I was talking on the way home from Tennessee yesterday about the long trips I took with my cousins. My dad would load us all up in the van (Mom was usually there too, but a few times, he braved it on his own) and take us to Florida on what he called a "Surfin' Safari". Sure, we didn't actually surf, and mostly, we built sandcastles and went to Disney World, but it was like having four siblings instead of just my big brother. Actually, I have two big brothers, but the other one was in college by the time I was five, so he wasn't around for the twelve-hour van trips. But piled in the van with my brother and the Pratt kids (to clarify, there are eight of us cousins, but the three Pratts were the ones we travelled with at this period. The girls were too young, and the Other Boy was always, it seemed, in Europe or at some seminary or another. He was smarter than we were, ok?), I felt like they were my brothers, and that I had the big sister I always wanted instead of my brother. Now, it is true that today, I wouldn't trade the world for Ben. He's an amazing brother, and I have more fun when I'm with him than I do with just about anybody. However, when we were kids, he was exactly what a big brother should be: a complete jerk.

I want Sam to have that kind of family. I want him to know who his cousins are. I want him to know them as well as he knows himself, so that one day, he'll be eating Jelly Bellys and remember how they used to bite them in half and press different flavors together and think they had really done something cool. I want him to have the memories I have, of riding through the night with someone's foot in your ribcage, alternately sleeping and laughing so hard the grown-ups have to pull over so somebody can pee. I don't want him to miss out on inside jokes that stay around for decades. I want him to know what made Link drink water. (For those of you who weren't there, it's because he got thirsty and ate peanuts. I know you don't think it's funny. That's ok. Five people in the whole world do. And if you're not one of them, then ha ha on you.) When I see Sam with Doodle Bug and Pookie, I see amazing potential for lifelong friendships. I hope they see the same thing.