Who needs Norman Rockwell?

If you are like us, any day involving high expectations usually takes a nose dive. A major one.

Like I said yesterday morning, if we ever have to be somewhere on time, looking nice, with pictures taken, you might as well go on and cue the Jaws theme song. Because there is trouble in the water.

In my "mind" I would want Easter morning to go something like this. We would all rise to the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls (special morning treat) while the kids relished their Easter baskets.

Reality was that I have no idea what the kids had for breakfast because I woke up with a sinus infection feeling so bad that all I could do was pull the covers over my head. My husband took care of it, whatever it was, and my breakfast was peanut butter spread on a slice of bread that had surpassed its freshness washed down with a Coke, all which was scarfed down in the car on the way to Easter service.

I had truly, truly planned the night before for Easter morning. I even laid out the boys' clothes so everything would go smoothly in the morning. I really, really should just go on and eliminate the word "smoothly" from my vocabulary. Somehow one loafer was missing. I accused the boys first and then ended up peering inside the dog crate to see if he was enjoying a new leather treat. He had an Easter basket too, and maybe he got confused. My sons finally ended up finding the shoe in one of their Easter baskets where it was reportedly thrown. Don't. Even. Want. To. Know.

The day before I had even planned on wearing a dress I love that I hadn't worn since last year. My how times have changed! My husband had laughed as I breezed by him the night before muttering under my breath that now in the dress I look like Humpty (#%#^) Dumpty.

Darn that dress for somehow still having the exact same amount of material it used to have.

With my pollen induced puffy eyes, and while suppressing the need to stop up my nostrils with Kleenex (not a good look), I simply told my husband to go take a picture of the boys on the porch. I knew I just could not deal. I hoped for the best, not even looking at the photos yet. I thought it was important that I still liked everyone as we walked into church.

Of course the church service was perfect. The pastor spoke about God's unconditional love. And thank goodness our families love us unconditionally as well, even when we don't fix a decent Easter breakfast and become a little Mommy Dearest-ish when we can't find shoes (this has been going on for ten years).
Yes, we have a designated shoe spot. No, it doesn't matter.

In my mind we would all go home to a wonderful home-cooked meal which I had carefully planned. After eating we would take a stroll through our neighborhood, some of us perhaps even holding hands.

Reality was that the pictures on the front steps of our house were a disaster. We finally got a decent picture after church, not in front of flowers or even a cross, but in front of some wood paneling inside Chili's restaurant.

It is what it is.

Our lunch consisted of the boys being a bit boisterous. The youngest one entertained himself by embarrassing his brother and using a line he learned from an episode of Good Luck Charlie. He mischievously announced that his brother was, "Single and ready to mingle," to those walking by.

Nothing like Norman Rockwell.

But then, a few hours after we got home, something truly amazing happened. The boys, together, in sweet harmony, grabbed their baseball gear and went to the backyard. My 10-year old worked with my 7-year-old on his baseball skills. I heard no fighting. I did hear words of encouragement. The oldest helped the youngest of his own free will. The littlest listened to the wiser older brother, paying attention and never arguing.

Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.

After two hours of the Twilight Zone, the two of them came to us wanting to show us what they had been doing.

They performed four "phases" of skills they had been working on together. Lo and behold, the youngest had improved by leaps and bounds with just two hours with his brother. It was such an extreme transformation that my husband and I were almost rendered speechless.

So, since Easter is a very important day, I had been feeling like a failure because I hadn't made the day as special as I had intended. But that's when the little bit of unexpected magic was sprinkled on us. What is that saying about how there are no perfect days, only perfect moments?

Perfection isn't attainable anyhow. Even very special days are never totally perfect.

But to be honest, I think Norman Rockwell's stuff is a bit boring.