I tried giving up expectation for Lent this year. Not anticipation, but that other, drabber thing: like thinking I know what my husband and sons will do well, or do next. Or thinking I even know what that ought to be. I’m practicing the discipline of happy surprise.
At first, they produced Easter eggs like the ones in books: mostly pastel, a little metallic paint, a little glitter, a few glue-on ornaments. Then one year, abruptly, their eggs veered off course. Lucky me.
And I still get a classic, every once in a while.
Happy (surprising) Easter to all.