Every year I dream our Easter holiday will be gorgeous. I always hope the girls will have wonderful new spring dresses. When the girls were younger I always thought I could walk into church with each of my girls wearing a lovely pastel dress handsewn with all the love I have for them (ok, they're a little old for a home-made dress now, but still . . . it's my dream.) My son would be wearing a crisp new shirt with a pastel tie and shoes brightly polished. (He doesn't even live at home this year and I still want to get him something new.)
I always hope to place a delicious, beautifully executed dinner around a spectactular center piece of Easter lilies.
I always hope to plan ahead and get some wheat grass growing in the easter baskets so I won't have to use store-bought filler.
I don't know why I always think I can do this. This year instead of shopping for dresses with my girls, we gutted our bathroom. Instead of preparing our home for a celebration, we are taking moldy sheetrock to the dump. Instead of planning a fantastic Easter dinner, I planned for a mediation meeting over a business dispute. Instead of shopping for a centerpiece, I filed paperwork for leins against some clients who have failed to pay us recently. Instead of artistically arranging the easter baskets, I am hanging on for dear life at the end of my rope. Really, . . . . the end of the rope. And it's unraveling on me.
(next year, everything's going to be PERFECT!!!)