I woke up to footprints but no bunny tracks on my blog.  I knew this blog-thing wasn't real. 

I used to feed the Easter Bunny when I was a kid (maybe 5 or 6).  Every night, in the days leading up to Spring, I'd get a carrot from the icebox and take it out into the outer hall (I lived in an up-and-down with a common hall) and leave it in a small box for the Bunny.  And, every morning, I'd rush out of bed and into the hall and find that it was gone.  Oh, the magic and mystery of that feeling of assisting a higher creature with fulfilling its springtime destiny.  One morning, however, either I rushed out of bed a tad bit earlier or the carrot caretaker was running a bit late. Because I found my mom dutifully disposing of the carrot.  With this discovery, there was no shock, disillusionment, sense of betrayal, hurt, or disappointment.  I was simply joyous.  My mom was power beyond the Easter Bunny and I'd no longer have to worry about avoiding bunny crap in the hallway.  Also, the task, which had become onerous though I remained dutiful to it, of putting out carrots every night had mercifully come to an end.  And we'd save money henceforth on otherwise spent carrots.  Those were my kiddie thoughts as I hugged my Mom and laughed and laughed at my own departing naiveté.

Nope, no bunny tracks on Xanga. *holds back crocobunny tears*   Though I did buy an Easter basket for my daughter yesterday and left it just outside her closed bedroom door this morning while yet she slept.