When flying to Austin at Easter-time, what do you pack? Plane chocolate!

Practically every community thinks it is home to the best chocolatier. Poor deluded honeys. Wake up, Willie Wonka! Without a doubt, Oliver's Chocolate makes the BEST chocolate ever. And it's not bragging if it's true. 

I grew up with Oliver's in my Easter basket which means my daughters have always associated Oliver's with Resurrection Sunday. Their move to the West Coast was made even more bittersweet; separated, as they were, from their favorite chocolate. Rest assured though, friends, not a year has gone by that Savannah and Sydney have not been visited by the Easter Bunny with some Oliver's Chocolate in hand (paw).

But, over the past few years, further challenges have arisen. Our darling friend, Lisa...my daughter-in-love and soon, in-law, is Jewish. Obviously, Jesus has no problem with this. He's Jewish too, after-all. But we were unsure where Lisa stood, theologically, regarding the more frou-frou aspects of the holiday. What a relief to discover, when it comes to chocolate bunnies, she's quick to convert!

That leaves our newest member, Douglas. "Is he going to find this childish?" Brad wondered as we systematically filed through the piles of shelved Oliver's chocolate Easter molds like a cocoa-based card catalog. I quirked an eyebrow at my husband. Was he being serious? Then I realized that he and I have never experienced Douglas together. Is it possible that Douglas parent-trapped us...trotting out two different Douglases (Dougli?) for two different occasions? I had experienced the fun-loving, occasionally goofy, always warm, welcoming, and helpful Douglas. Did my husband meet that guy OR did Douglas slip into his more solemn suit of maturity with just a splash of reticent resolve? "Douglas will love this," I assured my husband as we made our final, agonizing, chocolate-buying decisions.

I lugged my suitcase filled with securely-wrapped chocolate, packages of venison, containers of horse radish, and several options of butter lamb varieties (smooth AND fluffy) 1,600 miles, praying that the forecasted 90 degree weather wouldn't result in my immediately making a gross, putrid, melting mess in Texas. Fortunately, we arrived in one piece.

Plan in place, I explained the rules to the group and handed out their accompanying worksheets.
Savannah, Sydney, and Joan were immediately on board and eager to either (a) get going or (b) get it over with. Lisa and Douglas seemed a bit more trepidatious.  "What if I don't recognize my spirit bunny?" Lisa asked fearfully as I explained that, should you find a hidden chocolate, you couldn't claim it unless it was your chocolate. "Oh, you'll know," Savannah waved her off, rushing off to begin the bunny hunt. Douglas breathed a sigh of relief as his bunny immediately drew him in. "A weight-lifting rabbit," he announced, holding his trophy aloft triumphantly. "He's no dumb-bell," I whispered to Sydney, who smiled sweetly at her fiancee. EVERYONE found Lisa's chocolate and gently tried nudging her in the right direction as she tried (and failed) to claim all the other hidden treats. "A horse," she shouted happily, when she finally found her spirit bunny, "It's perfect!" Joan found her bike-riding bunny with no trouble which left Savannah and Sydney fighting over the rat and the toad. For some unfathomable reason, neither one wanted to receive the rodent. 

Herein lies the genius that is Brad Mosiman. I quickly and easily found chocolate representations for Joan, Douglas, and Lisa based on their interests, passions, and hobbies. But Brad digs deeper. And this year I got a peek behind the curtain as he searched relentlessly for an image that reflected a memorable part of Savannah and Sydney's childhood. Lisa and Douglas were, understandably, baffled by Savannah and Sydney's spirit animals so, of course, it was storytime. Time for Douglas to catch a glimpse of the young girl who, each spring, would be driven to desperation as she fervently embarked on the heartbreakingly sisphean task of transporting countless toads to safety as they emerge from hibernation and head to their breeding grounds, blanketing the roads at dusk for days. 

Savannah's story is "toad-ally" traumatic as well...year's ago, our house was on the receiving end of a rat invasion when our new neighbor left our back field farrow. The resulting wilderness that grew right up to our property expelled a biblical plague of ants, snakes, and rodents. Our basement was over-run. Co-existence came in the form of our knocking on the door leading downstairs and loudly announcing our intentions to descend. Eventually, this led to our house-guests rushing out to enthusiastically greet our arrival. They no longer fled from the lights being turned on but began to view it as a stage spot-light with which to perform. We fought back, ineffectually, with live traps but eventually ramped up with bb guns and a horrifying incident with a pick-ax. Collateral damage, Savannah was rendered, paralyzed with horrific fear, when, in the midst of doing laundry, her hand encountered a gray ball of sticky fluff...let's just say it wasn't a dust bunny or dryer lint. Savannah recently suffered flashbacks when a family of cute, cartoon mice temporarily took up residence with her and Lisa a few months back. "If you can survive raccoon-sized rats, then you can handle this," Brad said, encouraging. Savannah's mouse motel was only open for a few weeks as, one by one, they were gently evicted. 

All were silent as I finished my stories. Now I was nervous. Would Douglas, Joan, and Lisa feel short-changed that their bunnies lacked the depth of thought and background that surrounded Savannah and Sydney's selections? Eyes wide, Lisa hugged her gift. "I'm happy with my horse," she said while Joan and Douglas nodded in quiet agreement. I understood. It was a lot to take in. We Mosimans give new meaning to the idea of "chocolate therapy."  I will spare you the horror that Lisa and Douglas experienced when we then whipped out the hammer and destroyed our chocolate masterpieces...a symbolic breaking down so that we can, once again, focus on re-building.