Great Domestication: Easter Sunday

As a kid I remember my dad coming into my room on Easter Sunday and waking me up while it was still dark outside. He would remind me to "dress warm" but I'd always end up waiting for him in the Jeep wearing only a bikini and T-shirt with no shoes. Every year he would take me to sunrise service on the beach and then watch my friends and me surf for much of the morning. I don't so much remember the Easter baskets, eggs or feasts, but I remember the sunrises.

I was pretty disappointed that I couldn't find a sunrise service on the beach here in St. Pete. Although, I assumed it was because our beach is on the west coast and the sun rises in the east (one of the many things I miss about the east coast, sunrises). Despite the lack of services, Ryan and I got up at 6:30, grabbed Mila, threw on some sweaters and headed to the beach.

It was so strange to be the only ones there. I knew the beach in my home town, Ormond Beach, had been packed since 5:30, parking was probably impossible and there were most likely dozens of surfers already in the water, but not here. Here, we owned the beach. Mila's laugh filled the empty space and was only broken by waves crashing on the shore and the occasional seagull, which her and Ryan had a blast chasing away.

After the beach we met some friends at our favorite breakfast joint (yes, in our jammies) before heading home to break into our Easter baskets and take a family wide nap. We spent the rest of the afternoon back at the beach with the same friends from breakfast, then headed off to a catered Easter feast--this year, Ryan's mom and I decided the only thing we felt like making was a reservation. I'll probably go back to cooking next year, loads of leftovers are much too important to miss out on two years in a row.