Go On, Sit On His Lap — The Easter Edition

I don’t like it when I get parenting advice in public spaces.

This woman told me, “Why is your daughter so scared of the Easter Bunny?”

I have no use for this kind of comment at this park.

So I looked at her straight in the eyes, and I told her, straight, no chaser, “Why don’t you mind your own business… MOM?!?!?

People have infinite opinions on how I should raise my kids. But my family especially feels like they have to tell me every single one they have as if their opinions are some form of malignant toxic they need to release or they would explode.

What annoys me is that they ignore the fact that kids clearly tell us the limits of what they want or don’t want to do. There is no reason to force them to go against their intuition.

If they decide not to do something and they are not putting themselves or others in danger, then why push it? Why teach them early in life to constantly go against their better judgment?

Besides, the Easter Bunny is one of the creepiest dudes out there.

We were at a Community Fair in Corinth, a suburb north of Dallas, and among the many activities, there was a booth with outdated decorations where parents could force their kids into this six-foot-tall bunny.

This bunny looked like it had fallen in some hard times and couldn’t wait to get back to his double-wide trailer, put on some Enya, and light up a bong. It was meant to be a white bunny, but it didn’t look like his custom had been dry-cleaned, so he looked brown from the fabric breakdown, dust, and other children’s dirty laps.

A bunny is about one to two feet tall, and then kids see one that is six times that, and they are supposed to sit on it, relax, and wait for parents to take their Instagrammable pictures.

If bunnies were ever that big, humans would’ve hunted them to extinction because bunnies are delicious. Have you ever had rabbit ratatouille? If you haven’t, don’t try it because then it will ruin all other ratatouilles for you.

But kids don’t know that. They see an animal five times bigger than they are, and wonder if the bunny can see with their beady, buggy, terrifying eyes if they are kids or something similar to a yummy carrot.

So, of course, kids will be afraid of giant, radioactive, monstrous bunnies. The kids that are not afraid are the ones you need to worry about.

I put little stock in people’s comments about what my kids should or shouldn’t do. I usually offer things to my girls and let them tell me how they feel about it. When they decide it’s not for them, I do my best to relinquish my expectations.

The day before this Easter event, my sister and I took our daughters to a trampoline park in Dallas.

I didn’t think Jovie would partake in it. But she eagerly put on her grip socks and ran after her cousins towards the ninja trampolines. She jumped as high as she could, bringing her knees to her chest and then dropping back down to the mat in a cannonball.

I decided to join them because why let kids have all the fun?

I found my way to the trapeze set-up. Jovie saw me jump from the fifteen-foot platform, grab a trapeze release into a triple axle, double front flip, and land on a pool of foam cubes standing up.

Okay, fine. I just grabbed the trapeze, then let go and landed on my back in the foam pool like a ripe papaya.

After seeing that, my daughter wanted to do it, too.

She wanted me to hold her and jump into the trapeze. I don’t have that kind of upper body strength anymore, so I offer what I could do. I was willing to jump from the platform, holding her, and land like two papayas on the foam.

And to my surprise and my back’s demise, she agreed.

We jumped three times into the pool, and we had to stop because I have it as a rule to do my best not to throw my back when I’m traveling.

So, we opted instead to jump from a different platform into an inflatable bounce pod.

This time, I wanted her to jump on her own, holding my hand.

We climbed the three platforms to the top and leaped off from the fifteen feet into the air pod. I landed first (being an adult with a larger body) and took all the air out of the section; my daughter landed second and found all the air from our section gone; she tripped and landed her face against the hard, air-less surface.

She cried hard for a few minutes. Once she calmed down, I asked her to do it again so she wouldn’t fear it the next time we were in one of these. She agreed to jump again with me holding her.

That was fun for her. I didn’t need to coax her into doing anything. It meant taking more risks than she usually feels comfortable with.

Why ignore that the following day when she doesn’t feel comfortable sitting on a creepy bunny’s lap?

Why would I force her then in the few instances where she doesn’t want to do an activity?

It is more important to me that my girls grow up to trust their feelings.
It feels tricky to sit on a giant rabbit’s lap, I will let her honor that feeling regardless of what anyone has to say, especially my family.