When I think about Easter, I’m reminded of my childhood and how we’d squirm around in church anticipating the moment we get home to tear the house apart in search of our baskets. We’d pull up into the driveway and my Mom would turn around and face all four of us in the car; simultaneously unbuckling our seatbelts in such madness it sounded like a stampede of horses running on pavement. She’d tell us to sit back down because she had to go inside and “make sure the bunny came”. Worst liar ever. But we didn’t care. The amount of sugar we were about to destroy left us with little room to worry about who arranged and left the basket.