Meditations on Easter—Peeps, the Croup, Code Red Mountain Dew, and Jesus Christ

We’re broken down machines, this family. There’s Eli, who was kicked in the tail pipe by a fever, followed by the croup, followed by a cold. The boy’s been sick for almost a week straight.

There’s yours truly, who ran fever and tore up a knee playing basketball and gimped around for days and days.

And there’s Sally, who complained about her ankle being sore for months. I didn’t pay much attention because much like Rambo and Mr. Crowley, my junior high basketball coach, I believe that pain is just weakness leaving your body. I’m macho and smart like that.

Today, Sally visited an orthopedist who told Sally (a) that her ankle is “deformed,” (b) that he has no idea why it’s so “messed up,” and (c) that he’s amazed she can even walk on it. He recommended two ankle specialists.

“Which one would should I go to?” asked Sally.

“Both,” he said.

So Sally isn’t running right, either.

Slade, on the other hand, is fine. No fever. No croup. No mangled ankle. He still eats like a hungry mule, sleeps poorly, spits up three times a day, and expresses his displeasure (read: yells) when he isn’t being held.

So that’s us. That’s our world right now. Wheezing. Creaking. Yelling. Falling apart.

Easter is almost here, which means we’ll be celebrating Jesus by going to Walmart to buy Peeps and chocolate rabbits. Okay, not Walmart, not really. We don’t do Walmart, which has nothing to do with Walmart’s politics, its impact on local culture, or the way Walmart treats its employees.

No, the reason we don’t shop there is because of the experience. I swear every time I step in that place, there’s a three year old waddling around wearing a diaper and hollering about wanting a Code Red Mountain Dew while his mother yells, “Darrell Deeewayne, you better shut your mouth. You hear me? You shut up, or I’m going to whip your butt.”

And then she’ll whack Darrell, and he’ll wail louder, and he’ll pee into his diaper, and the diaper will drip, and the place will smell like a urinal, and it just kills the fun of shopping at Walmart.


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