Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! It's Memorial Day! TAKE THEM DOWN!

Good afternoon all!  

First, I need to share a new link with you...I have a NEW WEBSITE!

This website will combine my novels, news, and links to my other blog.  So, that's going to be fun.  

And remember, my newest novel, A Hero's Spark is available RIGHT NOW!  So go on over to Amazon and buy the book!

Now then, on with my rant.

Friends, it's Memorial Day.  It's the end of May.  The weather, even here in Wisconsin, has been all sorts of non crappy for weeks.

TAKE DOWN THE CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!

November 24, yes.  May 24th, TAKE IT DOWN!

I'm even making allowances for those of you, yes, you, guy on my block, who have put a lot of time and effort into getting those house lights on nice and tight.  You can keep them.  I get it.  You did a good job.

But, for those of you with the icicle lights...the reindeer in the yard, and you, guy a mile from my house with the NATIVITY SCENE out front and LIT last night...TAKE IT DOWN!  

Oh, your Nativity Scene is a statement of your faith?  Color me doubtful.  I'm also devoutly religious, and friend, I know the difference between a religious statement and laziness.  Seeing your Nativity Scene, in your yard where it's been since the day after Thanksgiving, still LIT?  THAT'S LAZINESS!

Even Hubby had to let me yell out the window on that one.  And, given it was one of those very rare nights when we were out past 10, my voice really, really carried.  I'm hoping the homeowner got the point.

It's Memorial Day.  Remember the veterans, shake hands with a soldier, buy a poppy.  AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY...TAKE DOWN THE CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS!

New Day, new book! Go Forth and READ!

Ladies and Gentlemen:

The third and final book in my Wicked Women trilogy is complete and ready for public consumption.  That's right, "A Hero's Spark" is now available for sale in print or digital by CLICKING HERE!  If you prefer your books in print and you'd like to see your favorite indie author (who doesn't have to be me, but boy it'd be cool if it were) get a bigger cut from the result of the blood, sweat and tears that goes into writing a novel, then you can purchase any and all of my books by clicking HERE!

Yes, "A Hero's Spark," the story of musicians Collier James and Miranda "Mira" Pierce is ready for your reading approval.

I'm excited, as I always am, when I'm done with a book because it means I've accomplished something that no one can take away from me.  If I never hit the New York Times Best Selling List, (Okay, that would blow big time) I'd be okay, really as long as people read and enjoyed my stories.  Most authors feel that way.  Sure, we all have big dreams of book signings with lines that wind through the massive book store.  But the reality is we write because we have to. Most of us pour our hearts out and craft books carefully.  And we indie e-pubs also have to handle cover art, editing, rewrites, and marketing.  (I don't care for the marketing end of it.  I'd like you all to just run over to Amazon and Createspace and buy the books.)  We e-pubs have a heavy burden on our shoulders to get you the stories, and hopefully a couple dozen of you will purchase the books so we can be encouraged just enough to write another one.

But I'm here to talk about the book, the new book.  What, you may ask, is "A Hero's Spark" all about?

I'm glad you asked.  Here's a quick description: 

Rejected by the woman he loves and abandoned by his band, Collier James is broke and alone, a thousand mile from his home in Nashville. Collier turns to his uncle who sends him to Rock Harbor, Wisconsin where he hopes recording mogul Shara Brandt can help him find the spark to take his music career to the next level. 

Miranda Pierce cannot escape her sister Madelyn's control. To do so would mean losing all contact with her son, Dusty. She's also unable to escape constant contact with Madelyn's husband, the man who raped her at fifteen, but who is now powerful enough to destroy her if she reveals that he's the father of her son. Madelyn allows Mira to return to their childhood home in Rock Harbor, and Mira hopes to build a music career that will support both her and Dusty.

In the studio Mira and Collier must work together in spite of their mutual dislike. Mira's lack of discipline clashes with Collier's single minded drive and sparks fly. As a tour date in Nashville nears, Mira and Collier strike an uneasy truce. Working together, sparks of a different kind pass between them. 

No amount of musical success can keep the walls from closing in on Mira as Madelyn tries to cut her out of Dusty's life forever. Desperate, Mira risks everything, even her life, to prove herself and protect her son.

Collier's worried about Mira's erratic, desperate behavior. As she spirals out of control he realizes he will have to sacrifice everything to save her from whatever it is that threatens to consume her. In the process, Collier discovers that this sacrifice might just be the spark his life needs.

Many of you may recognize some of the character names.  Yep, "Spark"  draws on characters and locales from my previous two novels, "Fresh Ice" and "Lies in Chance."

Was it easier writing a book where I'd already built many of the characters and the sets?  No.  Just ask my critique partners, who had to slog through many, many, many different spellings of Shara Brandt's band...if I hadn't mentioned them in "Lies in Chance," I would simply have given the band a simpler name to type.  But, since I couldn't change a name just because I didn't want to have to type it the same way more than once, I had to hope my critique partners, Authors Linda Schmalz and Kelly Moran, and my editor, the sublime Susie Harkeness Kline caught the mistakes.



SPOILER ALERT!
(But NOT for "A Hero's Spark")






Writing a book that ties two previous books together was not something I'd planned on doing until a number of people demanded that Collier James, the poor gent Izzy Marks passes over in "Fresh Ice," get his own book. That's when I realized Collier had the same last name as Archibald James, the lawyer who pretty much saves the day in "Lies in Chance."  (Oh, spoiler alert...those books have been out for over a year.  If you haven't read them, maybe you need to catch up on your reading!)

As it turned out, Collier had a lot to do for himself.  And Miranda Pierce, well, she might be the character most like me that I've ever dared to write.

This book goes to a far darker place than any of my previous work ever has.  Blame it on the past year.  As I was writing this book my family spiraled deeper and deeper into a very dark place.  Thankfully, each day now is a little better and I think the book reflects a determined optimism.

Friends, no artist works for simple cash.  If I did this for the cash, I'd have stopped years ago when "Dream in Color" failed to make me independently wealthy. Cash is great, don't get me wrong.  Buy my books!  I need to make some money doing this!  But I'm an artist, and I have stories to tell and characters you need to meet.

Since 2009 when I sold "Dream in Color" to The Wild Rose Press I've been blessed to publish four novels, two humor books  (Under Sarah Jayne Brewster) and a novella.  I've written countless blog posts and I've met so many fantastic people along the way.

I'm not stopping.  What's next?  Next I'm going to introduce you to Nora Hill, a young woman who needs to find lost children.

But for now, all you need to know is to CLICK HERE or CLICK HERE to purchase A Hero's Spark...my newest story.

Buddy, you're not even the most interesting person at this table!

Good morning!

Last weekend was Mother's Day. Normally, my big Mother's Day wish is to not move.  I dream of becoming one with my couch.  However, most Mother's Days, at least for the last 20 years or so, I've managed, at the music director for our church's Sunday School, to make sure we sing in church that day.  Every year.  Very stressful for me.  You'd think I'd learn, but I don't.

After the mega stress of church and Sunday school I then get my wish. Hubby makes a mega meal and the family gathers around the table as we do once a year, to eat and have dinner conversation.  And then I become one with my couch.

This year was a bit different and not just because we dismantled our kitchen table at Christmas and never actually put it back up.  (We now eat our dinners as God intended:  At the coffee table while watching TV.)  This year Hubby got Opera tickets.

Yeah, I know.  Opera. We're not exactly Opera people.  I mean, we are those people who figure if a story is really good, they'll make it into a movie and hey, if the movie is really good, it'll probably be on Netflix in a couple months.  

Oddly enough, the Opera we were to see was La Boheme.  This is an Italian Opera set in France.  It's also the grandaddy of movie-musicals such as "Rent" and "Moulin Rouge." So, sure, we had the story line down.  But seriously, how does one behave at an opera?

To top it off, since we were going to the Opera, we were then invited to the Opera Luncheon.  For $70 we got to rub elbows with other Opera folk while dining on chicken breast covered in white goo.  (Hubby's dinner, the vegetarian option, was far superior.  At least the flourless chocolate cake was awesome.)  We figured, hey, how often do we get to have lunch with people who know stuff about actual culture?  So we went to the luncheon.

Now, I don't know, I sort of thought we'd be sitting at little tables, sort of soaking in the cultural talk as it floated around us.  Nope, we were seated with six other people at a round table.  There was an old couple, a couple of old women, and a couple slightly older than we.  (Are you getting the point?  We were the youngest people in the room.) The couple slightly older than we decided they knew us.  (They didn't.)  But there was that long, drawn out, uncomfortable, tedious conversation where they are trying to decide how they know us.  (Which they don't.)  We finally landed on the fact that we both go to the same coffee shop.  Well, having that connection, they decided they knew exactly what we were about.  (Nope.)  And they proceeded to talk to us to the exclusion of the rest of the table.

Since it was Mother's Day, the woman asked if this was what we were doing to celebrate.  (Um, duh.)  And then she launched into a long, horribly detailed description of her day to that point.  Apparently they went for a walk. In their back yard.  And there their foraged for Morel mushrooms and asparagus.  And then husband made, and I'm quoting, "A beautiful breakfast."

Okay, that story should have taken three minutes, with maybe another three in discussion about how we enjoy morel mushrooms.  (I would have thrown in a bit about how false morel mushrooms play a key role in my novel "Fresh Ice."  I never got the chance.) They continued to talk about every house they've ever lived in where they've foraged for morel mushrooms  (so that he could make a "beautiful breakfast") and how they do so enjoy walking in their back yard.

This went on for most of the lunch.  I swear, she said "beautiful breakfast" fifteen times.  I wanted to smack her with my salad fork, but I was thinking that wouldn't be very cultural.  

While the least interesting people in the world took a breath to chew, the elder gent on Hubby's other side mentioned something about being on a ship during the war.  I pounced on that because those guys have the BEST stories, but you have to sort of draw them out.  Turns out, the guy enlisted at 17, and was a radio guy on a destroyer for both Iwo Jima and Okinawa.  And, he told us, when they were in battle they only needed one radio guy so then he had to help feed the bullets into the automatic guns.

The guy was a bona fide hero.

I encouraged him to tell us more stories. He started in on one about losing his wallet which was touching and funny.  Meanwhile, the Morels piped up about how they had to yell at a pack of children playing in their back yard to stop playing because they were crushing the morels and then he wouldn't be able to make...say it with me...the BEAUTIFUL BREAKFAST.

I ignored them because then War Hero wife quietly mentioned they'd lost all his war memorabilia in a house fire set by a drug addict who broke into their home while they were visiting their children.  The story was dramatic, riveting, and did not involve morel mushrooms.  

Lunch ended and later hubby and I realized we'd never even heard a peep from the two old ladies a the table.  We called them the Baldwin Sisters and made up stories for them, none of which included the words "beautiful breakfast."

We enjoyed the opera.  Thank goodness for super titles  (that's sub titles that are flashed ABOVE the stage.)  Will we be back to the Opera? Maybe.

I am, however, hesitant to go back to our favorite coffee shop.  I'm not strong enough for another "beautiful breakfast" story.

A Five for Friday Rewind: Movie Quotes for the Stressed Office Drone

It's been that sort of week here at Stuff, Installed.  In the last ten days there's been a major argument about a pickle,  the day when the carpet cleaners and the electricians all disrupted Captain Nubbin's peace and quiet so he ran away for a couple hours, an interview with a potential employee that ended with C.N. fanning the guy's cologne stink out of his office  (hint:  He didn't get the job) and the usual parade of freaks and geaks and broken people who insist on giving Stuff Installed business.

In thumbing through some of my past Five for Fridays, I ran across this list of movie quotes which sort of brilliantly sums up everything I'd like to scream while on the phone with people who are incapable of getting through a day using the tiniest amount of common sense allowed.  If you, too, are sick of dealing with people who believe there is such a thing as a self cleaning bath tub, and get enraged when you suggest there isn't, and there certainly isn't one you personally installed because you don't do that, then this list is for you:


5)  I've been blown up!  Take me to the hospital!  Take me to the hospital, I'm sick!  (The 'Burbs)

One of my top 100 all time favorite movies.  "The "Burbs."  And one of the best quotes from a very quotable flick.  And a pretty good way to signal to those around you that you've had ENOUGH.


4) "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."  (Gone with the Wind)

Now, while I would NEVER advise cussing...something about tossing this classic verbal hand grenade into the middle of polite society is making me giggle at the moment.  Best part?  Ya don't even have to use much energy with this one.  Just calmly let it drop on the person or persons making some ridiculous request of you and walk away.  Perfection!

3)  "I'm Bob. Would you knock me out, please? Just hit me in the face. "  (What about Bob?)

Granted, this isn't so much an angry quote, but it just happens to be my Face book status at the moment.  Sometimes just asking for this kind of help will get your point across.  Sometimes.  Then again, if you're to the emotional point where you're asking to be smashed in the face, chances are you're working with complete morons who simply aren't going to get it.

2) Are you not entertained? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED????????(Gladiator)


Yep, this one is the go to when those around you just aren't going to be happy no matter what you do or say. I'll admit, I've used this one...and had fairly decent results. Shut my kids up for about six minutes one hot summer day when I'd dragged them across God's green earth for summer time fun and they still wanted MORE!

1) Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.  (The Princess Bride  )

When feeling like the world is against you, wouldn't you just love to walk into a room full of people who have been making you insane and shout this battle cry?  And then proceed to share some of the sweet ninja moves you've been practicing since you were ten and some kid pushed you in the mud and you knew, you KNEW that someday you'd have a moment when the world was pressing down on you and you'd rise up, you'd RISE UP AND YOU'd TAKE CONTROL because you ARE A NINJA  and you RULE!


Um, oh wait, where was I?

So anyway, that's a list of five movie quotes everyone should have in their brain banks, just in case the right situation arises and you simply can't take it anymore....

Some days you just need to see someone else giggle.

Good evening!

Over the weekend I was beyond blue.  Things around here have sort of been weird, and not in the usual "oh hey, Sarah's going to laugh it off" sort of way.  In fact, I was in the middle of writing a very dark, depressing, not at all funny blog when Hubby invited me to walk to Starbucks with him.  (We have a Starbucks about a mile from our house.  Makes for a nice walk.)  I said, "It's cold, it's gray, it's windy.  I'm not walking to Starbucks."  He said he'd walk there and I should meet him in twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes later I dragged myself away from my very unfunny blog and drove to Starbucks.  He'd already ordered my favorite late in the day beverage, a grande vanilla rooibus tea.  We sat at a table in the middle of the place, which was full of people sitting at their laptops, sort of being social in a very isolated way.

In walk two girls, maybe 16 or 17.  They sort of giggling, the type of giggling girls do when they're in a group and doing something they're not comfortable with, but they're in a group so it's not uncomfortable it's funny.  They went to a woman behind me, and put a small cake on the table.  It was the kind of cake that you get at bakeries, sometimes it's brownies, sometimes it's a cake in a foil pan.  They said something about random acts of kindness...it was hard to hear because they were giggling so much.  The lady at the table said thanks, and they left the table, giggling.  

The girls then went to the counter and ordered a drink, giggling the whole time.  By this time Hubby and I were looking around, but obviously the laptop crowd hadn't exactly picked up on the fact that something pretty fun was happening.  The girls took the drink over to another lady at a laptop and said something again about random acts of kindness.  This time the lady explained she couldn't drink anything with caffeine in it.
(Wait, you're at a STARBUCKS!)  So the girls were now confused...in a very vocal, giggling way.

They ran out of the store, giggling the whole way.  Hubby spotted the adult with them, some youth group leader or something.  (Hubby is our church youth group leader, so he knows the look.)  The leader sent those girls back in the place with the drink.  Doggone it, they were going to bestow a beverage on SOMEONE.  

They found another lady, handed her the drink, and, covering their faces with their hands, giggled out of the store.  By that point it was hard for anyone to ignore them, and there was a general murmur of social approval before everyone went back to their laptops.

The lady with the cake, well, come on, she's not going to sit at a Starbucks and eat a cake, she gave it to the Starbucks employees, explaining that she wasn't headed home any time soon, and she didn't want the cake to go to waste.  The lady who wound up with the drink did drink it and seemed pleased.

As for me, I got into my car and on my windshield was a pink sticky note that said, "have a blessed day" and it was written in that loopy, giggly handwriting teen girls tend to have.

I felt a little brighter for a bit, which is saying something given how the past few weeks have been.  The sticky note is on my dashboard and every time I look at it I think of those two girls giggling.

They'll never know how big their random act of kindness was for me.

FIVE FOR FRIDAY! Easter Egg Hunt torture and other memories...

Good morning!

Easter is two days away and I can't help, as I pack the traditional shoe boxes full of goodies from the Naughty Easter Rodent  (oh what, you don't stuff shoe boxes full of goodies from the Naughty Easter Rodent?  Then how do you make sure your children have a year's supply of apple cider and toothpaste?) of my Easters as a child.

No Johnny for you!  It's Easter!

I didn't love Easter much when I was a kid.  Easter Sunday meant a couple things in my world:

5)  I wouldn't get to watch "Emergency" the night before.  

Most Christians know Easter Sunday means SUNRISE SERVICE.  This was especially true at my house.  We'd have to get up at 5 AM.  I've never been a morning person, neither has my brother.  My parents figured they'd put us to bed at 7 PM on Saturday so we wouldn't be so hard to get up at 5 AM.  We all know that didn't work.  But every year I had to miss Johnny Gage.   Taking away "Emergency" was also my mom's favorite, go to punishment for me.  Way to equate punishment with celebration of the Risen Savior, Mom.

4)  Everyone was in a foul mood.
My mother never drank coffee.  And, since it was the seventies, neither did my dad, because my mom wouldn't let him.  Staying up late to hide the eggs and baskets plus getting up early to be at church early plus extra long service because it's EASTER plus having to be nice to more church people during the Easter breakfast plus the basket and Easter egg hunt at our house plus loading into the car to drive from Michigan to Wisconsin to spend the week after Easter with the grandparents equals two parents in ROYALLY FOUL MOODS.  And, throw in two kids who are sleep deprived because no, we didn't go to sleep at 7 Pm and yes, we did stay awake until  my parents finished hiding the Easter Eggs and baskets  (they would yell, "WOULD YOU KIDS GO TO SLEEP?  WE HAVE CHURCH IN THE MORNING!"  My brother was an idiot, he'd yell, "WE AREN'T TIRED!"  That would lead to my mother and father arguing about the drive to Wisconsin.  "They'll just sleep in the car.  Then they'll be up all night when we get there.") and you have four people in WILDLY FOUND MOODS.

3) We always, always, always got in trouble for doing something early.

Again, my mother didn't drink coffee. Maybe she should have.  One of my clearest memories of Easter Sundays always involved getting yelled during a predawn breakfast of cold cereal and milk.  Dad would be showering  (mom and kids bathed the night before) so he was never part of the fracas of breakfast.  Mom would slam breakfast in front of us and snarl something about "eat it quickly, we have to leave."  Inevitable, while sitting at the table, minding our own business...one of us would find an Easter egg.  We'd point it out.  That was enough to set my mother off to some outer limits rage.  ("SO YOU DON'T WANT YOUR EASTER BASKETS?  IS THAT WHAT YOU;RE TELLING?"  Well, no, we're telling you, we see that egg you hide on top of the fridge.)

In my parents' defense, Easter was stressful on them because they were in church choir and Easter is THE DAY for Church Choirs, plus the 8 hour drive to Wisconsin was never fun.  There was always traffic, car trouble, something.  Once we got there it was okay, but getting to my grandparents' house was stressful.  Plus, we had no money, so my folks did the best they could with the whole Easter egg thing.  Our baskets weren't anything special, but I think they took some pride in hiding the eggs, imagining the fun of the Easter Egg hunt after church.  Thing is, they were always, always tired, my parents were.  I get that now, I understand the endless exhaustion that comes with trying to be a good parent.  But really, a cup of coffee might have fixed the situation.  And maybe we wouldn't already be in trouble when we walked into church...it was still dark outside, but not nearly as dark as my mother's expression.  We always managed to break some unwritten rule in church so that by the time we got home, we'd get yelled at or, maybe even a spanking before we did the Easter egg hunt.

2)  Easter Egg hunt torture.

My father is a quiet man.  He's an educated man.  He's a well read man.  He's a calm man.

He's a man with an evil, twisted, demonic sense of humor.

EVIL DEMON EGGS!

Those Easter Egg hunts at my house were sometimes torture dressed up in Sunday best.  Oh we'd have to keep our Sunday outfits on while crawling through the house looking for eggs.  My father would follow us with a checklist.  (In retrospect, this was not a bad idea.)  He'd say, "You have 14 more to find."  The rule was we weren't allowed to "find" the basket until we found all the eggs.  The house was only 900 square feet, and we knew there weren't eggs in the bedrooms.  You'd think two kids would figure it out in ten minutes.  Every year, however, we'd find all but one or two of the eggs in the first half hour. What followed next was an hour of whining, crying, destruction, and yelling.  My father would give no hints about the last eggs.  My mother, at this point, was lying on the couch trying to catch a nap.  My brother and I, sleep deprived and on edge, and wanting to get at the candy in the baskets we'd found immediately, would descend into tears begging him to tell us where the last egg was.  

He'd just grin and say, "You have one more to find."

"If I have to get up from this couch and find that egg"  my mother would shriek from the couch, "NO ONE is getting their basket."

That would set us to wailing even harder.  We'd tear through the house, banging doors, upending laundry baskets.  One year I dumped the flour and sugar cans on the floor.  That did NOT go over well.

1)  The one thing that made it all awesome...Tips and Butts.

Once we'd found all the eggs and had stuffed as many jelly beans and peeps into our mouths as we could, we'd get in the car and head to Wisconsin.  Easter dinner at my grandmother's house was always fun. My dad's side of the family didn't get together very often, so when they did, they shared stories and everyone laughed loudly.  We kids were left to our own devices so it was a blissful week of not getting yelled at because the adults were busy laughing.  

Easter dinner meant the long table in the dining room was full of food and in the middle there would be two huge platters of decorated eggs.  My grandmother LOVES decorated eggs. She loved making them.  But the thing about hard boiled eggs is that they do tend to go bad after a while.  So, what to do with these platters of decorated eggs that won't involve wasting food?

Tips and Butts!

Here's how you play:  Each person at the table gets an egg.  Challenge someone.  Decide if you want to battle the tip end of the egg or the butt end of the egg.  Decide who is going to be the hitter or the hittee  (we say "up or down")  the person who is "up" is the hitter, and he hits the "down" egg.  The egg that cracks is the loser.  The same pair then does the other side of the egg with the "down" person from the previous challenge being the "up" person.  Inevitably there will be one egg that survives battles and is the champion of the day.  You can play until all the eggs are cracked.  My uncle Bob didn't take part in the game.  He peeled the eggs and happily ate his fill topping egg after egg with salt and pepper.  Meanwhile, battles would rage around the table as relatives gleefully yell "I've got a butt!"  indicating the butt end of their egg is still unbroken.

It might seem like a dumb game to play, but we've passed it on to our kids, with a feel twists.  While my grandmother was never this twisted, we have, some years, included an uncooked egg in the tips and butts game.  This makes for a jolly mess and not every home owner loves cleaning raw egg off the floor, so be careful with that one.


What's the point of all this?  We parents try hard to make memories for our kids...not all of them are great, obviously.  But if you can end a holiday so fraught with stress on a high note with something as stupid as cracking eggs, then that holiday will, one day, become the favorite holiday.  I know it doesn't seem possible, but it is.

Easter is, for so many reasons, my very favorite day of the year.


 Whether  you celebrate the secular... or the religious, have a wonderful Easter.

Looking for something fun and a little twisted to share with your kids this Easter?

Good early morning all!

Another holiday where small children
pee on mall workers clad in
overheated costumes.

For Christians this is Holy Week, which will culminate with Easter.  Easter is fast becoming like Christmas with many secular traditions adding to the fun of a holy festival.  The biggest is The Easter Bunny. 

Growing up, my parents had Easter Bunnies as part of the holiday decor.  We hid Easter eggs  (I'll rant about that later this week) and had baskets of candy (that had to last us until Halloween.)  My parents were pretty traditional...and therefore never really explained why there was an Easter Bunny.  It just was.

Our children were a bit more inquisitive, as they should be.  "Why is there an Easter Bunny?"  "What is the Easter Bunny's purpose?"  "Did the Easter Bunny role away the stone and get Jesus out of the tomb?"

Faced with these heavy doctrinal questions, I did what any mother with a twisted sense of drama would do:  I created an alternate story for the Easter Bunny.

In our house, it's not the Easter Bunny.  It's the Naughty Easter Rodent.  He a rabbit who somehow manages to get into the house in the wee hours of the night.  The Naughty Easter Rodent takes all the eggs we spent hours the day before boiling and coloring and he hides them.  This is very annoying to the parents because we have to be in church, singing with the choir, by 6:30 in the morning.  The Naughty Easter Rodent will, however, as a way of making peace for his naughtiness, put a small gift, usually some piece of clothing or new shoes, by the child's door in the morning.  These are clothes the child is to wear to church.  When we get home from church, we have to search the house for the eggs and at the end, the Naughty Easter Rodent also hides baskets full of small gifts and candy.

Then we sit down to a ham dinner.  After dinner we open the cellophane on the packages of Peeps so they can age and be stiff and crunchy enough to eat in about June.  (Oh you eat your Peeps fresh?  HAH!  We've got a package from two years ago sitting there, aging.  This year we have well aged Peeps on the menu!)

I'm not saying this works for everyone, and when the kids were small they were a little nervous about the Naughty Easter Rodent wandering around the house...well, they were until my daughter found her dream shoes and my son got that Pokemon shirt he wanted.

And no one in my house has ever asked me why there's an Easter Bunny.  So...win for me!