The Young and The Restless | Easter was cracking

My ears, if they too had a time-lapse mode, would hear the timbre of their voice change as it cracked, the strain of stretching leather as their toes pushed the boundaries at the end of the shoes they constantly grow out of, and recognise the moment maturity and sensibility snuck into their speech.

This Easter, even my youngest’s excitement wasn’t intoxicating enough to mess with his body clock and wake him up at stupid o’clock.

Though I had a restless night with a sickness coming on, I didn’t wake fully consciously until about 9.10am on Easter Sunday.

I laughed with relief before I lifted my head off the pillow and reflected on how different things are now compared to years gone by when there were pre-daylight wake-ups and the urging me to get out of bed so I could come and see that Easter Bunny had been and grant them the permission they’d been waiting for to drown themselves in chocolate for breakfast.

It was also raining.

I couldn’t tell you how many Christmases or birthdays we’ve woken up to the sound of it on our tin roof, but given we do an outdoor egg hunt every Easter, I can tell you it was the first in my 17 years as a mother we were faced with rain on Easter morning.

Or at least at precisely whatever varied time we woke up each year anyway.

My older two were stirring, but my 14-year-old was still comatose (in a different way to the chocolate coma he would find himself in later that night).

How the tables have turned when you have to wake your kids up for Easter.

“Come on mate, happy Easter, let’s get this show on the road,” I said as I opened his blinds and let the daylight co-operate with my manual alarm technique.

I gave my kids as many goodies as always, but roughly 50 per cent of it was regular chocolate that I’d accumulated in each week’s shop for the past couple of months when different things were on special.

I mean, did you see the price of Easter-specific chocolate this year?

I’d like to take my kids on holiday soon, not re-mortgage the house to afford to fill their Easter crates.

I’d asked the kids not to buy me anything.

Fighting peri-menopausal weight gain is hard enough without the temptation of thousands of mouth-watering calories calling from the pantry.

They didn’t, but I could tell they were uncomfortable with not having anything for me on Easter morning.

After toasting and eating hot cross buns for breakfast, I jumped in the shower.

When I got out, I heard the front of the house door close.

I asked my kids who was there and my 17-year-old told me it was “the DoorDasher”.

The dear boy had ordered me a box of chocolates for Easter while I was in the shower.

Shocked he’d have probably paid as much in fees as the cost of the gift, he assured me his first order came with free delivery.

I hugged him hard and fought back tears of gratitude that were not so much for the chocolate gesture as they were for his sweet, sweet heart.

How did I get so lucky?

Things change, it’s inevitable.

And, sure, I guess it’s normal to lament the leaving behind of the magic in their childhoods as our offspring transition into grown-ups.

But I refuse to be sad about it when there’s all this new enchanting charm my young men are revealing.

I still gave them their Easter egg hunt despite the rain, because some traditions have no use-by date.

But, taking advantage of another perk that comes with their ageing and growing skillsets, I got my 17-year-old to pull the car out of the garage and scattered the eggs in all the undercover areas outside that our dog couldn’t get to.

Easter in our house is no longer chaotic. It’s calmly controlled, full of kindness and care and thankfully void of stolen sleep-ins and sugar-induced tantrums.