Easter Bunny gives mommy a gift

Jack woke up sobbing this Easter morning, before the sun truly cracked over the horizon. I went in and rubbed his back, trying to coax the bad dream out of the little guy.

J: "I won't get an Easter basket!"
Me: "Why not?"
J: Racked with sobs, "Because, becaaauuusse...I got out of beeeeddddd!"

We had told him the night before if he got out of bed and goofed around that the Easter Bunny might not come. Ugh.

Morgan piped up and said, without hesitation, "I'll share my basket with you, Jack!" They crawled in to my bed and slept until the Easter Bunny could hide the eggs.

That's an "awww" moment, right? Well, I felt bad for a couple of reasons.

I had just scolded Morgan a few days ago, and I was still feeling kind of bad. I don't like the word, scolded. It's hard and, like the action, sort of mean and condescending. But I forgot all the conscious-mindful-brain link info I'd digested in the last 5 years of their little lives and turned to the hard-wired parenting that is in all our brains: What would my mother do? Except I went old-school: What would my grandmother do?

She didn't worry about my level of understanding, kindness quotient, emotional IQ. She took swift action when I crossed the line with either a kitchen utensil or a mean glare.

But it works, I'm tellin' ya. Morgan saw my face and heard that roar start to build in my voice when I called her name. And we all walked away unscathed, I hope. We'll find out later, I guess.

We've talked about sharing, and I've fumbled around with the latest parenting techniques when I've found her holding her brother's toys hostage in some childish pleasure we never quite shake or see a that look in his eye when he's about to do something he knows is off-the-charts 'No.' It kills me when my children act like... mean children. Correcting it feels like a mine field sometimes. Go too far, they feel really negative about something we all do, not far enough and you're that mom getting those calls from the parents who actually finished that parenting book.

Apparently, Morgan is getting something good out of our parenting. In a crisis, who she is comes out fast and true. "I'll share my basket with you."

And hey, maybe that Easter Bunny boycotting our house thing might serve us well. At least one more night? We could really use the extra sleep around here.