I fell in love with
Angelina's son Max when I read
this post. Not only is he the weird and wonderful son I would have loved to have had, I see a little bit of myself in him. So, when Angelina mentioned in passing that Max would probably love a
headless bunny egg in his Easter basket, I immediately promised he'd have one.
I'm giddy imagining how thrilled he'll be to get this kooky egg in his basket. I wish I could see him when he discovers it. What a surprise! Is it selfish that this is the best part of gift giving for me ... the joy I get from imagining how happy people will be when they get my gifts? It sure does feel guilty.
Having been a teenager when my little brothers were born, I know exactly how happy little boys can get when you're pretending their spaghetti is a plate of wriggling worms that will all escape if they don't gobble them up, how they squeal with joy when you pin them down and whisper in their ear that you're going to suck their eyeballs out of their head and chew them up so they can't see anymore, or that when you tell the older one that the mole hills in the back yard are buried land mines he will decide to put the younger one in his stroller and push him off the back patio down the hill so he can see them explode (we weren't quick enough to stop him).
We were the best big sisters. ever.