I saw kids swimming in our pool today. In April.
Granted, I live in North Carolina. “The South.” And I’ve lived in “The South” for the past four years. Virginia. Florida. Texas. You’d think I’d be used to this by now.
What can I say? I’m still a Northern girl at heart. I mean, I can remember years when we hunted Easter eggs in the snow. And no one even thought of jumping in a pool when there was snow on the ground.
I love holidays. All of them. If you’ve known me for any period of time, you know this to be true. So it’s no surprise that Easter is no exception. There’s no greater reason to celebrate than the resurrection of Jesus Christ, after all!
My family has some of the best Easter traditions. Coloring hard boiled eggs around the dinner table. Easter baskets full of goodies. Chocolate bunnies. Easter egg hunts in the backyard. I’ll never forget the year our golden retriever, Harley, managed to “fetch” all of the Easter eggs before our hunt even began. He even made a nice, neat pile of them on the front porch. My mom was not amused. Despite all of our Easter traditions, though, I don’t think we ever had a traditional dessert for the day. Unless chocolate eggs and jellybeans count.
Confession: I ate pretzels for dinner last night.
I started out the evening with the greatest intentions, honestly. I even made a delicious, well-balanced meal. Bell peppers stuffed with ground turkey, brown rice, tomatoes, onions, and garlic. Parmesan farfalle. Fresh green beans. A dinner that would make the people at the USDA with their food pyramid proud.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be), all of my good intentions were forgotten the moment these pretzels came out of the oven.