I ruined Easter. There – I said it.
It’s taken me some time to be able to talk about it, but two days post-Easter, I’m finally ready to confess my sins. What happened, you ask? The blogosphere happened. I fully blame them. They kept posting all of their artsy, creative, delicious opinions and plans online and it compelled me to try something new.
So I decided to make … (wait for it) …
You may have seen the hundreds of happy homemakers out there blogging about these in recent years. Successfully. You take a marshmallow, dip that sucker in butter, roll it in cinnamon and sugar, and then wrap it up in a crescent roll. Bada bing – bada boom, ten minutes later you open the crescent rolls to see that *gasp* the marshmallow has disappeared and the roll tomb is empty!
It looked fool-proof. So I decided I was going to be a good mom this year and get all analogous and projecty for a holiday. Because I never do that. We don’t have any unique Easter traditions. I am so not the kind of mom that plans elaborate Easter activities for the kids.
So I gathered the Wild Things into the kitchen Sunday morning and spouted encouraging crescent roll wisdom. I artfully showed them how to roll their marshmallow in butter, and pinch all the seams of their Kroger brand crescent rolls like a refined pastry chef.
And then we waited for the resurrection magic to happen.
What happened next was so horrifying it’s hard to share…
Jesus bubbled out of our tombs. And ran all over our pan.
I took my spatula and attempted to scrape and scoop Him off the aluminum pan, stringing him from sticky fingers to plate. I apologized remorsefully to Him for making a mess of his glorious day. I forgave Him for possibly ruining my pan.
And then I delivered the failed treat to the awaiting and gleeful children. They began to laugh and joke about our Not Resurrected Rolls. And as I walked out of the room I heard Four Year Old laugh, “Jesus the Marshmallow died!”
Good job, Mom – I berated myself. Now your children sound like Atheists. Why don’t you teach them the phrase “Zombie Jesus Day” while you’re at it.
But we had one pan left, so I determined to take back Easter. These tombs rolls would be a success! Would!
I watched them carefully. They browned beautifully. Jesus was not gooping out of them. So I whisked them from the oven before another marshmallow could strike a blow to my faith. And I presented them to my children, flawless. I said, “Look children, our rolls have risen. Come hither, and behold the glory of the Lord”.
And then we opened them, to find a big. white. marshmallow in the heart of each one.
I ran sobbing from the room, but not before hearing Four Year Old exclaim, “Hahahahahaha, Jesus didn’t DIE!”
At which point Husband couldn’t take it anymore and told them all sternly that “You don’t joke about God!” and how you shouldn’t make fun of someone who died for you.
Then the Wild Things started to cry.
And we threatened them with their life if they repeated any of the above at church, before racing them to Sunday School. Late.
But by the end of a sugar infested class time, they had recovered. And I’m fairly certain they won’t be scarred for life. Oh well. There’s always next year.