Weekends like these leave me exhausted. In a good way, but exhausted nonetheless.

The boy had his birthday party on Saturday. TWENTY boys. Playing street hockey at the Y. Oh, wait 28 boys if you count the dads. Which you must because there were two teams, with three lines. Two for kids, one for dads. Oh, and in case you're wondering...it was crazy. The hockey game was fine but afterwards, in the cake and present room? Madness. Well, they were actually all pretty good but seeing as it was the Y there were those exercise balls all stored on racks in there and well, twenty boys + giant blue exer-balls is a little crazymaking.

The hockey families came home with us (see how much we love them?) and we cooked out, laughed, had some cocktails and laughed some more. I had forgotten just how nice warm weather can be. Sunny and seventy six degrees during the day and we were still outside at 10 p.m. while the kids ran around the yard with flashlights playing manhunt. Life is good. Oh, and life is even better because the only room that needed cleaning afterward was the kitchen. Ahhh, outdoor parties.

I was back outside with a flashlight at 5:00 a.m. hiding eggs and baskets. The things you do for love. Last week the kids made homemade chocolates with my mother in law, tons and tons of homemade chocolates. They brought them home and with willpower unknown to humans, they put the chocolate away and vowed to hand it out on Easter Sunday. Super, I thought.

Until today.

The boy takes out his bag of chocolate to bring to my mother's. One giant brick that says happy easter, which was the size of 4-6 hershey bars plus 3 large chocolate bunnies, 4 small chocolate bunnies, two solid easter egg sized easter eggs, 12 half eggs, 3 chocolate chicks and some reese's cups thrown in for good measure. He's sitting on the couch with the candy in a big bag. We go to my mom's and what do we realize? We've forgotten the extra table and chairs. The husband goes back home (no mean feat, it's at least 30 minutes each way). And when he gets home?

There are shredded ziploc bags everywhere. And tiny bits of blue all over the carpet. Because if you'll notice A.) The boy is sitting on the couch with the candy and B.)We go to my mom's. Nowhere do I mention the boy taking the candy with us.

It was left on the couch. And the dog ate every damn bit of it. The husband gets back to my mom's and tells me this fantastic piece of news. But not in an oh my god way, more like a who gives a rat's ass way. Which for the life of me, I can't figure out but that's his issue - I'm beside myself, convinced the dog will go into convulsions while we're eating our ham but we stay a short time and come home to find him in relatively good shape.

We stay a few minutes, refresh the water dish and pet him and head to my in laws for awhile. The kids egg hunted, the adults egg hunted (which was surprisingly competitive - my mother in law was flat out running to beat her boys to the eggs), the kids egg hunted again.

I came home, and this might sound a wee bit pathetic, but I was GLAD that my dog had thrown up all over the carpet. WHOOP FUCKING PEE. Puke. But seriously, it does seem like a sad state of affairs when you think dog puke is really a blessing (hey, he didn't keep it down, good boyeee *scratch scratch*). But no convulsions. And no emergency vet hospital. A dog with a pulse. All good things.

Happy Easter.