Good Friday? More Like “Oops, It’s Easter Weekend” Friday
Y’all. I just looked at the calendar and had a full-on come to Jesus moment—because it’s Good Friday and guess what’s just two days away? Easter Sunday. You know, the one with the resurrection, the pastel dresses, and the strategically hidden plastic eggs filled with sugar and chaos?
Yeah. That one.
And what have I done to prepare?
Absolutely. Nothing.
No cute matching outfits. No chocolate bunnies. No Pinterest-worthy brunch plans. No dyed eggs. No dye. No eggs.
Just vibes. And a whole lot of ibuprofen.
The reason? Steroids. Not the illegal gym rat kind—though at this point I might take those too if it would get me through a grocery store without pain. I’ve been on a two-week steroid adventure, courtesy of my angry immune system and a body that apparently thinks my hands and feet should feel like they’ve been through a medieval torture rack.
To be fair, the steroids did help. Sort of. They helped me survive. They helped me sit on the couch for long stretches contemplating the meaning of life (and whether I could order Cadbury eggs via DoorDash). But they did not help me become the hyper-productive, Easter-basket-stuffing mom I fantasize about in my delusional moments.
So here we are.
Easter Expectations vs. Reality
Expectation: My boys waking up to carefully curated Easter gifts—each basket full of fun surprises, little toys, maybe even a book that makes me feel like I have my life together. You know, the “Wow, Mom really nailed it this year” kind of moment.
Reality: Me, whispering to my husband at 9pm on Saturday night: “Do you think the Dollar General still has anything Easter-y, or should we just give them some leftover Halloween candy and call it retro?”
Let’s be honest…
Jesus didn’t rise from the dead so we could stress ourselves into a hot glue gun meltdown over DIY bunny centerpieces. He rose so we could have grace—even when our “celebration” looks more like survival.
And that’s what I’m clinging to this year: grace. Grace for my achy body. Grace for my undone to-do list. Grace for the fact that if anyone wants ham on Sunday, they might be getting deli slices on a paper plate.
What is getting done?
- Maybe we’ll paint a few eggs with whatever markers we can find in the junk drawer.
- Maybe I’ll microwave some cinnamon rolls and call it brunch.
- Maybe I’ll sit on the porch with my family, soak up the sun, and be grateful for the good—even in the unplanned.
Because this is life right now. A little messy. A lot painful. A lot real.
And honestly? That feels kinda holy too.
Wishing you all a weekend full of love, laughter, and the kind of joy that doesn’t require matching outfits or hand-painted eggs. (But if you do manage those things, bless you and your Pinterest board.)
Happy Easter, y’all. He is risen, and I’m still rising… slowly… probably with a heating pad.
