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Who is the Eater bunny

Bribery and uncovering the truth about the Easter bunny

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I’ve always believed it’s important to instill magic in my kids’ childhood and my husband and I have played along with the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, Santa et. al. We’ve been careful to never put too much credence into them but my kids’ overactive imaginations have taken care of that.

For Christmas, we’ve kept the Santa presents to a minimum and he only brings them a couple of their requested gifts and stuffs their stockings. Mostly because I want the credit to go to me, not some plump dude sporting fur.

When my daughter was 8, she started building a leprechaun trap and I had forgotten about it until I heard her setting it up the night before St. Patrick’s Day. My first thought: Crap, now I have to do something so made up a few mischievous leprechaun tricks.

When she was in second grade, her teacher introduced the class Elf on the Shelf (likely to ensure they behaved) and the children were delighted when, each day, their elf dreamed up a new caper.

“Mom, Are You the Easter Bunny?”

Then, there was The Easter Reveal. We were at the airport on Easter waiting for our flight home from Utah when my daughter, while eating her stash of candy she’d collected earlier that day, asked,

“Mom, are you the Easter Bunny?”

“What do you think?”
“I think you are. No, wait, I think he’s real. Oh, I don’t know.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure. OK, yes I want to know.”
My husband had previously agreed we wanted to tell her everything this summer so the timing was perfect.
“Mommy and Daddy are the Easter Bunny.”

Disappointment, then relief flooded her face. She grabbed another handful of candy as she contemplated this new revelation. After a minute, she handed me a Reese’s chocolate egg (sharing is something she never does) and asked:

“What about Santa?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, no, maybe not.”

Learning the truth about Santa was exponentially tougher because there’s a lot more build-up and excitement surrounding him. Ultimately, she confessed,

“Yes, I want to know.”
“It’s Mommy and Daddy.”

There was a flash of sadness but then an appreciative look as she reflected back upon all the gifts we’ve bought her that have been attributed to Kris Kringle.

She grabbed another stash of candy, shoved it in my hand and queried.

“So, the Tooth Fairy and leprechauns. Not real, either?”

By now, my mouth was busting with her bribery chocolate and I merely nodded.

Once she had digested the new information, she got a twinkle in her eye and started calling me out.

“So, when the Tooth Fairy came when we were evacuated for Hurricane Earl, that was you?”
“Yep, and it was really tough one because we didn’t have any cash and had to borrow from Grandma and Grandpa.”

“And when I leave out those cookies and milk for Santa?”
“Daddy devoured them.”

“What about all those pistachios Elphina ate?” (Elphina was her Elf on the Shelf and one morning, my daughter found her bent over in a drunken-like stupor surrounded by shells).
“Daddy and I ate them.”

“But what about when we found her in the kitchen with all those sugar cookie crumbs? WERE YOU AND DADDY RESPONSIBLE FOR EATING THEM ALL?”
“Yep.”

Apparently, our imaginary friends have an eating problem we’ll need to come up with another scapegoat.

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