Easter Sunday

So quickly, because I am tired of being so far behind, my boy and I had a lovely Easter.

We went to church at my childhood friend's church and then we went to her house for an incredible brunch. She and her husband are both incredible cooks. Their friends added to the bounty (bringing such delicacies as monkey bread a deviled eggs -- I LOVE deviled eggs).

The table where I was seated was incredibly fun. there was a professional go cart racer (I think --it could have been another recreational vehicle), a graphic novel aficionado (who also worked destroying a library once -- it was being torn down/packed up, downsized and moved) who worked in Long Island, and encouraging/fun people filling out the rest of the table.

After a lovely and filling brunch we went back to my boy's brother's house picked up our stuff and said our goodbyes. We got on the highway and started listening to Alan Alda's book Never Have Your Dog Stuffed and Other Things I've Learned. While I found the book quite enjoyable, I can honestly say the ride home was THE WORST in recent memory. A van almost hit us (and not in the I am overly dramatic and I always think everyone is trying to hit us when I am in a car it really did almost hit us). From that moment on, I was a nervous wreck. Shouting at my boy when people two up were breaking and the person in front of us was still rushing toward them, shouting when a car would come up beside us, flinching and jumping and really, generally being the worst passenger you can possibly be short of grabbing the wheel or anything. My boy, to his credit was calm through it all. He didn't yell at me, he didn't demand that I calm down and he never once said I was overreacting (though I am sure he was thinking it). He calmly drove as competently as he could and got us home safely.

We picked up my roommate and returned the car to the rental place. Then we proceeded to walk in the freezing cold to the South Street Diner (one of the few 24 hour restaurants in Boston). It turns out that they serve mimosas so after the harrowing drive home I treated the table (mind you my boy doesn't drink) to a pitcher of cranberry mimosas. They called it cranberry, but really they only used the cranberry to color the champagne so that it was more of a pink champagne -- I am not complaining. It was exactly what I needed at that point.

So yes, the day ended well -- even if I wasn't so great at trusting the God who had come and died on a cross for me to also keep me in his perfect plan on the way home. . . . .