Cracking ourselves up on Easter

 Holidays away from my girls are hard. Holidays in the midst of a global pandemic while I am away from my girls are even harder. Flights out west were out. My NY license plates make me Public Enemy #1 should I attempt a Smokey and the Bandit-inspired cross-county trip to rescue my daughters and bring them home. Believe me. It WAS discussed. A power point presentation was set up to remind me of every time I've gotten lost while driving. Twenty minutes was devoted to failed trips to and from the airport. A bonus montage was added for fun, focusing on times I've gotten lost IN the airport. After that, we enjoyed the blooper reel of me unable to successfully exit the airport. "What level are you on?" my husband's frustrated voice blared at me through the phone. "There's more than one level?" I answered, shocked. Finally, after the hour-long presentation designed to demoralize me ended, I resigned myself to Easter without my daughters.Which meant that Brad was resigned to finding a way to get me through the day without a meltdown.

Hence, an itinerary. He distracted me Saturday by letting me boss him around all afternoon, taping a Children's Message for church. At one point, he was stuffed deep into the dark depths of our closet, armed with a SCUBA diving flashlight while I knelt outside of it with a towel draped, Samaritan-style, over my head, sobbing over the empty "tomb." On my cue, the heavenly light indicating the miraculous presence of the Lord would come blazing out of the Mosiman family clothes closet. Unfortunately, Brad couldn't stop dramatically sniffling and sneezing from his surroundings so we decided to move the scene to the cow tunnel in our field. It appeared very authentic...very moo-ving.

Easter dawned, bright and early. Before I even had a chance to think, I was packed in the van with some coffee for a secret cross-county mission. Two hours later, we returned home for some strawberry puffed pancakes. My full-proof recipe failed and there was no poof to my puff which triggered the beginning of a sobbing huff...waylaid by Brad's enthusiastic shaking of the red and white container before unleashing a fire-y foam to put out the impending flame of emotion threatening to sweep over me. "Nothing a little whipped cream can't fix," he said.

From there, we headed over to Conesus Lake. This was quite the effective distractive maneuver as the frigid wind froze my brain cells as we traipsed along the train in search of fish with more sense than us to be out. We took our picture by the "Social Distancing" sign posted in this remote location and counted ourselves blessed to live in a country that finds creative and resourceful ways of keeping our government employees busy. Things got a little tricky as Brad weighed the risks of taking us to the little dock where we always posed for a family picture. Would the ghost of our absent girls get in the way? "Let's send Savannah and Sydney a picture before we go," Brad suggested, tugging me down the wooden walk-way, "Do you want to drive through Letchworth Park on the way home?" I smiled for the picture and nodded. I did.

Letchworth was pandemically-crowded, as it always is these days. We found a slightly-secluded spot and enjoyed the breath-taking view. Brad, disgusted by the posted signs declaring the very-open pavilions "closed," delighted in re-enacting the scene from MASH where Hawkeye taunts Frank who is in house-arrest. "I can go in," Brad told me, entering the off-limits building. "I can go out," he stepped out. "In...out...in...out," he chanted, hopping back and forth over the thresh-hold while I clutched my sides, laughing hysterically. Wait.

What was this? Surprised, I pulled a small nutcracker from my coat pocket. A left-over remnant of a failed April Fool's prank. And somehow, that odd appearance inspired a rather weird photo shoot. Balancing that little guy on stone walls in front of waterfalls just completely "cracked" me up.

Of course I still missed my girls. I missed their childhood egg hunts. I missed stealing their Easter candy. I missed the inevitable "Remember how Mom baked the holiday ham in its plastic wrapper...to maintain moistness?" I missed the ceaseless teasing about my obsession with the annual butter lamb and Sydney's declaration that she could easily carve a replica. I missed them. But thanks to some careful, thoughtful, sensitive planning, I wouldn't have wanted to miss this Easter with my husband for the world.