“One of you will have to fill in,” she says.

We all stare at the floor, adjusting our outfits, getting ready to take photographs of children sitting on the Easter Bunny’s lap. It’s a fun job. The kids are always excited and my coworkers and I work well together. Most of us have returned from the Christmas season.

I stay focused on straightening my white nylon socks, not making eye contact with anyone. But I can tell Dottie is still looking at me.

“Margaret?” she says. I look up. “I think you’re the one. You’re a dancer, right?”

My heart tightens as I nod. I wonder what ballet has to do with being an Easter Bunny. I look at the other girls who all look relieved. We all had a week of training, preparing us for taking photos and selling said photos.

Our Easter Bunny had joined us for the first morning of our training, but then she had gone to her own Easter Bunny training. She had learned what to say and what not to say to small children. She had developed her Easter Bunny voice and walk and persona.

I had learned how to take Easter photos, which were not, truth be told, all that different from Christmas photos. We all had agreed that our training really was just a review of what we had learned back in November. I felt completely prepared for the season and was ready for anything that was thrown at me. But I was not prepared to be the Bunny.

The other girls file out of the dressing room, whispering to each other, probably about how lucky they feel for not having to be the Bunny. They are going to set up the cameras and seating area. I wish I was going with them.

I reach for the costume Dottie is handing me and carry it over to a bench in the dressing room. She steps out of the room.

“I’m right outside if you need anything,” she tells me.

I change out of my carefully chosen pastel outfit into the lavender silk shirt and purple velvet suit. The suit is too short, made for someone who is 5’3” and I am 5’8”. I slip on the Bunny feet, which are supposed to touch the elastic hem of the velvet pants. Instead there are my ankles, completely exposed, except for the white nylon socks. I stare at my ankles, trying to figure out if this looks normal at all. Will that be the first thing everyone sees when I walk out to the line of kids waiting to see me?

For some reason the sleeves of the suit are long enough and easily touch the Bunny hands I put on. Dottie knocks on the door. I turn around as she comes in and strike a tada sort of pose. She smiles at me and then looks down at my ankles.

“The suit’s too short,” I tell her.

“Ah, what can you do?” she says. “Let’s get that Bunny head on!”

I’ve never been great with small spaces and suddenly wonder if putting on the Bunny head will be a problem.

Dottie walks over to the huge box sitting on the bench on the other side of the room. The box is in beautiful condition, obviously well taken care of. I am not surprised when she pulls out the loveliest Easter Bunny head I have ever seen. The eyes are big and expressive. The cheeks are perfectly round and fluffy. The two little buck teeth, coming out of the mouth, are adorable. I guess if I have to be an Easter Bunny, at least I don’t have to be one of those creepy ones who makes children cry.

Fortunately, Dottie is taller than me, so she has no trouble lifting the Bunny head up over my head. As she brings it down over my face, I panic. I start to hyperventilate a little bit. She stops, looking at me.

“You okay, kid?” I look at her. She’s brusk, but kind. She truly wants to know that I am okay. I take a slow deep breath and nod.

She lowers the head until it rests on my shoulders. I am amazed by how easy it is to move inside of the head.

Of course I immediately have an itch on my face, which I know I cannot reach. She pulls a straw out of her pocket, with the paper still on, and shows me how to slide it in through the mouth to the itchy spot. She tells me that someone will have the straw available if I need it. I am relieved. I guess I would have learned that in Bunny training. I look in the mirror and am pleased with the reflection, except for my ankles, of course.

“You look great,” Dottie says. “You ready?”

“Almost,” I say. I stand in front of the mirror for a while, walking and gesturing with my arms in as many styles as I can think of until I settle on Charlie Chaplin style movements.

“Shall we?” Dottie asks. I nod, which is exaggerated by the huge Bunny head on my head. Dottie offers her arm, so she can guide me down the hall to the meager Easter display on the second floor of the mall. She laughs as I wiggle my tail as I walk.

“I knew you were the right choice,” she tells me. “I’ll be there the whole time, if you need anything.”

We leave the hallway and make our way to the Easter display. Unlike the Christmas display, there is no soft chair waiting for me — just one of the mall benches.

There is already a line of children waiting for me. I hop a little in between steps, waving to the children with both Bunny hands. We wind our way through the velvet ropes that separate the line from our area. I sit down on the bench and keep waving at the kids. They are jumping up and down and shouting things to me which I cannot hear.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Dottie says. I take a deep breath.

“I’m ready,” I tell her. She moves the stanchion to the side to make room for the kids to come through. The first two in line come bursting through, running towards me to sit on my lap.

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buy Margaret a cup of coffee

My brother is only 4 years old, so he is outwardly excited about this. At 14, I have learned to be excited, but not show it. I hold onto the bucket my mom handed me before we left the shore. My brother is playing with his bucket, knocking it back and forth between his feet. He asks if we can eat the blackberries as we pick them. I assure him that he can.

The bushes are unreachable to the people who live on the property. There’s not even a dock on the property, so it doesn’t look like the owners could boat out to where we are. I often wonder if they even know that the bushes are here. And I wonder what they would think of us taking all of their berries.

The bushes create shade over the water. We slide into the best picking spot under the bushes. Both of my parents lower their paddles, straight up and down, into the water to stop the boat from going further forward. Then my mom balances her paddle across the canoe and starts picking berries. My brother and I follow her lead, while my dad keeps the canoe steady, reaching up every so often to pick a berry for himself. Such decadence.

We pick and pick until our three buckets are full, stopping here and there to eat one or two. There is something meditative about the whole process. Every time we come here, there are always more berries than we will ever be able to pick. There is something reassuring about that.

When I’m 15, we move to Colorado. I know then that one of the things I will miss the most is our berry picking trips. In some ways, I’m glad we move away before anything can happen to our blackberry bushes.

In my mind, they will always exist and we will always be able to go berry picking in our canoe, protected from the sun by the blackberry bushes.

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buy Margaret a cup of coffee

I want to hear about your unusual hobbies —
the ones you’re sometimes afraid to talk about.
Astrophotography,
Doctor Who cosplay,
competitive dog grooming,
beekeeping,
ghost hunting.

Some people flit from one to another
and some people stay with one their entire lives.
I don’t care which you are —
I want to hear about all of it.

Come sit next to me
and tell me everything you know
about this thing you love.
Tell me everything and
perhaps I will become obsessed
with your obsession.

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buy Margaret a cup of coffee

As soon as you have established that everyone is awake and getting dressed, head downstairs to start making breakfast. When you’re getting four kids ready for school, breakfast should be something simple and straightforward, like toasted ham sandwiches. As you set out your ingredients, listen for any screaming or shrieking coming from upstairs. If screaming or shrieking happens, go to the bottom of the stairs and yell, “Do I have to come up there?” This will usually stop the screaming or shrieking and will also cause the two youngest kids to come down to the kitchen.

As you start making breakfast for the two downstairs kids, keep listening for sounds of more fighting from the upstairs kids. At the same time, you will need to run through a checklist with each of the kids in the kitchen to make sure they have everything they need in their backpacks. But don’t stop making the ham sandwiches.

Once the two kids in the kitchen have breakfast in front of them, run back upstairs to see what’s taking the other kids so long. You will likely find one kid partially dressed and the other kid back in bed. Help the partially dressed kid find the rest of his uniform and then go wake the other kid up again. (Do not yell, because this will just slow everything down and possibly cause tears.)

Once you are sure the sleepy kid is awake, head back down with the other kid who is now fully dressed. Send fully dressed kid back upstairs for his backpack and his glasses. Start making fully dressed kid’s breakfast. Remind the two youngest kids to eat the breakfasts sitting right in front of them. Then remind them to slow down as they take enormous bites of their sandwiches to prove to you that they are eating. Grab a dishcloth and wipe the mayonnaise off of each of their faces. Then set fully dressed kid’s breakfast in front of him.

Run back upstairs to see what is taking sleepy kid so long. Find sleepy kid back in bed. Yell at sleepy kid to get out of bed and get dressed. Watch sleepy kid as she gets her clothes and goes into the bathroom. Stand outside of bathroom while sleepy kid gets dressed.

Call down to the kids in the kitchen that it’s time for them to get ready to go to school. Remind them that they have toothbrushes in the bathroom next to the kitchen.

When sleepy kid comes out of the bathroom in her pajamas, sternly tell her to go back into the bathroom, change into her uniform, and brush her teeth. Pretend you didn’t hear the rude comment she made. (More yelling won’t help at this point.) When sleepy kid comes out of the bathroom again, tell her to get her backpack. Follow her down the stairs. Go through the backpack checklist with sleepy kid and then tell her to sit at the table.

Walk over to where you were making breakfasts and find a toasted ham sandwich already made by fully clothed kid for sleepy kid. Blink back tears as you thank fully clothed kid and kiss him on the head. Then hand the sandwich to sleepy kid, telling her that she will have to eat her breakfast in the car. Ignore the grumbling about how the sandwich won’t taste the same because you didn’t make it. Assure fully clothed kid that the sandwich he made will taste great. Check in with all of the kids to make sure they got enough to eat.

Smell everyone’s breath to make sure they brushed their teeth. Send the kid with ham breath back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Tell the other kids to get their coats on. Watch as sleepy kid pulls ham breath kid’s coat out of the closet and throws it on the floor. Pretend you didn’t see that happen as you count kids, coats, and backpacks. Make sure everyone has shoes on. When ham breath kid comes out of the bathroom, smell his breath and then tell him to put on his coat. Microwave the cup of coffee you forgot about so you can take it on the drive.

Stand at the back door and wait for all of the kids to find their backpacks and put them on. As the kids are walking out the door, remember that you never went through the backpack checklist with fully clothed kid. Do that now. Send him back inside to get a snack for snack time. Nod when he asks if he can bring a few extras for his friends.

As you guide everyone to your car, be grateful that you don’t have more children. Watch the kids argue over seats as they climb into your car. If you need to, look at the ceiling of your carport until they are all in. Go ahead and get into the driver’s seat. Suppress a smile as the kids loudly sing the “Buckle it Up” song from Bob’s Burgers. Ask them to stop throwing things at each other as you pull out of your carport.

Hand your phone to one of the kids, so they can DJ the ride to school. Smile as the kids sing along to “don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.” Tell youngest kid to put his shoes back on. Tell oldest kid to put everything back in her backpack. Be grateful that the drive only lasts 7 minutes.

Pull into the car line. Say “not yet” over and over to youngest kid as he keeps trying to get out of the car. When you get to the front of the line say, “okay, now!” to the youngest kid who will then seem to have forgotten everything he knows about how the door handle works. Ignore the teacher frantically waving her hands to try to get you to hurry up. Make sure each kid has their backpack and remind them all to take care of each other as they tumble out of the car. Smile at the frantically waving teacher.

Drive your car carefully out of car line. Feel free to cry on the way home — it’ll help relieve the stress of the last 45 minutes.

When you get home, look for the cup of coffee you forgot to take on the ride with you. Find it in the microwave. Microwave it again and then sit in silence, drinking coffee, for at least 15 minutes before starting the rest of your day.

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buy Margaret a cup of coffee