There are three signs that Easter is coming to the Buxom household. And when you hear what they are, you will know why you should ignore everything I say.
1. The temperature is hovering around freezing, and it's even thinking about snowing. Easter in Chicago is so much like Christmas everywhere else that I'm tempted to sing carols.
2. Instead, I am constantly driving to rehearsals, donning my choir robe, and singing lugugrious Tudor motets. My children have forgotten what I look like and about to flunk out of school. They've got the collywobbles from a non-stop diet of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and hot dogs. My study looks like a bomb went off.
3. Our Nativity scene is still up.
Not that I want to complain--yet again--that I'm overbooked and completely unorganized, but I am. And this means that according to this household, the Baby Jesus never went to Egypt with the rest of the Holy Family. He's still on the table with the rest of the gang--angels, donkeys, shepherds, the cute campfire, the tiny well, camels, Wise Men--the works.
Boy, is He going to be surprised that while he was lying there in the manger, being gazed at by an adoring Virgin Mary figure, He grew to manhood, was put to death, and then came back to life.
Internet, my housecleaning team joins you in finding me deeply strange.
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