Happy Easter

This year, Darling Daughter is 13 years old.

I am not climbing into the attic to search for her Easter basket and the ziplock bag of three dozen colored plastic eggs.

I am not going to insert coins and chocolate into three dozen colored plastic eggs.

I am not going to get up at dark-thirty to hide three dozen colored plastic eggs filled with coins and chocolate.

I am not going to take pictures of Darling Daughter hunting for three dozen colored plastic eggs filled with coins and chocolate while wearing jammies with feet.

I do observe yet another sign of my daughter growing up.

Easter morning, we will all sleep in. When we awaken, I will give her Lindt chocolate bunnies. Because she will always be my baby girl.

And I will be well-rested.