By Elizabeth Feenstra

We would run home yelling: Mommy! Mommy! Easter. Is. Coming. Soon.

Mom knew what that meant. Today is the day we shop! Scrunching our chubby toes into Velcro shoes, mom would button our coats for us and we’d jump in the car. At the mall, we’d run into the store, our wide eyes scanning clothing racks for the brightest dresses. It became like a contest to see which of us could pick out the brightest, most flowery dress. An added bonus was the white gloves that were sometimes attached to a pretty dress. Through the aisles we would run, skipping and hopping, jumping and leaping, until we reached the part of the store where the pretty dresses no longer fit us, for they were too long for our stumpy, tree-trunk legs. Then we would turn, pitter-patter, scitter-scatter like mice back to our mother. There would be tears sometimes, as we whined, But Mommy, this is the bestestprettiestcolorfullestbrightestcoolest dress and I WANT IT, even though it didn’t fit. In the end, we settled for whatever dress fit the best, and if our mother was in an especially good mood, she might even buy us hats to match our dresses. Looking like little dolls, we would dance around the store, until it was time to leave. We’d watch regretfully as our dresses were carefully hung up and placed in the shopping bag. We couldn’t take our eyes off of those dresses. And we just couldn’t wait to show them off on Easter.