Easter-Geddon IV: This Time It's Personal!

It was all going to plan.

The plan was afoot. The trap was set. The bait was taken.

And then . . . BAM! Fucking Orthodox Easter.

Turns out, tonight is Orthodox Easter. A holiday I was hardly aware of has suddenly reared its ugly head right into my Saturday night.

Let's rewind a few hours shall we.

Earlier today, my wife and I hatched a devious plot to spend a night without kids by way of inviting the neighbors' kids for a sleepover. "Huh?" You say. "How will inviting MORE children over increase the chance of being alone?"

Come walk through our labrythine logic.

Our neighbors have four kids -- one of which is my eldest daughter's OMG BFF. So we invite her over for a sleepover KNOWING that the children's father thinks she's too young to have sleepovers. Plus, we anticipated that the rest of the children will be jealous and want to come over -- something that we know just won't happen. And that's where the genius of the plan kicks in.

Alright, so we threw out the first pitch and invited the eldest daughter over. Her mother said "yes," a little too quickly. I would be lying if I said we weren't a little scared.

Forty minutes later, the mother called stating that it's her daughter's birthday tomorrow (did I mention that they're Jehovah Witnesses -- at least the mother is -- so her child's birthday wasn't going to be a big deal) and she wanted to invite our two daughters over instead.

YES!!!!

Not ten minutes later, I'm rushing around the house -- literally throwing my childrens' pajamas on, gathering toothbrushes and shoes. It's what's known as "Married Man Nesting." It's eliminating all distractions and deterrents from your wife's surroundings so that she can concentrate on . . . making brownies (look my parents read this blog so give me a break).

Anyway, the children are dressed and ready to go. So I called the mom -- "The girls are ready to come over." Yes I love my children but to say I wasn't hopping around like a puppy would be a lie.

"Well, actually we're going to a midnight Easter service. I didn't know earlier. I'm sorry."

CUT TO ME IN CAPTAIN KIRK'S CHAIR SCREAMING INTO THE CAMERA ABOVE:

"JESUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSS!"

Fucking Orthodox Easter has ruined my Saturday night. On a night when I had planned some decidedly un-Christianlike behavior, Jesus has resurrected and achieved a masterful cock-block. Well done Son of God.

For you curious few, Orthodox Easter is the neighbor's father's idea -- it's not a JW thing. He's fighting an uphill battle against his wife's new found faith with Jehovah's Witnesses and is doing his best to keep his kids out of Kingdom Hall. I don't blame him, but couldn't he have found a different day to fight this war?

Don't miss the Easter-Geddon series here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 2.5
Part 3

If There is a God, He Looks Like . . .

Danny Glover.

Yes, Morgan Freeman is a good choice but I have to believe God has a really kick-ass dental plan and wouldn't let his teeth look like his dentist is employed at Shawshank.

Apparently my oldest daughter agrees, or at least, THINKS God should look like Danny Glover.

How do I know, you ask?

I blame Black History Month. Or at least the Black History Month posters in her school that cause her to ask questions about Martin Luther King and Whites Only water fountains.

Well, it all starts with racism. Or at least, my definition of it. Even in this age of Obama, and the fact that we live in a predominately Black area, my wife and I still feel it necessary to tell our daughters about good ole' USA-Prime racism.

So last night, as I was reading "The Story of Ruby Bridges" to my two girls, the question of racism came up.

My eldest asked why the little girl wasn't allowed to go to school with the other children.

"Because back then White people didn't think Black people should go to school with them."

"But she's not Black, she's brown."

"Well, that's what we call ourselves."

I won't bother you with the back and forth about the actual color of people but you might imagine it took some time.

And then, from left field, she asked "what color was God when he was a man?"

CUE THE RECORD SKIP

First off, that's a clear Christian concept. Not angels, not the la-di-da big poppa in the sky idea. No, that was a question born of a Christian agenda. One I suspect she got from hanging out with her friends across the street -- you know the Jehovah's witnesses.

Instead of tying her to a chair and interrogating her about this new wrinkle in her growing theology, I asked simply:

"Do you mean Jesus?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he was brown like you and me." Now, I don't know that he looked like Mekhi Phifer or Kanye West, but he probably looked more like Barack than Barry Manilow.

She chewed it over a minute and then replied:

"Good."

Well, I can't argue there.