My oldest sister Chris’s nickname growing up was Horse. She’s fearless, with the strength of ten men. My middle sister, Cory, and I were worthless at the projects my parents  dreamed up on the land in Western Minnesota that we lived on – chopping wood, assembling split rail fences, mulching paths. Chris would hoist one end of a railroad tie while Cory and I would dissolve into giggles on the other end, narrowly avoiding each other’s toes as we dropped it, sinking to the ground in a fit of laughter.

Last summer, we visited Chris’s cabin on Lake Superior. It was an all girls’ weekend – me, my kids, my sisters, and my mom. There are lots of rituals involved in such a trip. One must eat “The World’s Best Donuts”, play cribbage with Gramma on the deck, shop the tourist traps as each child decides on one prized trinket.

We always walk to the lighthouse. For me, the journey is fraught with danger as Astrid and Akeyla hop and skip while waves crash on deadly sharp rocks surrounding the, um, let’s call it a path. There’s a narrow concrete wall that has, no shit, a wire cable for you to hang on to as, inch by inch, you maneuver farther into the Great Lake.

Perfect for preschoolers.

Mom decided to skip the hike this year, preferring to sun herself by the tide pools. So the trio of daughters and duo of granddaughters set out. Finally, before I had a stroke from anxiety, we made it to the lighthouse.

Chris noticed some teenagers diving off the side of the platform.

“I’m gonna jump in,” she announced.

“But you aren’t wearing a suit,” Cory and I responded.

“I’ll take off my sneakers.” My kids were going nuts. Was Auntie Chrissy really going to launch herself into the middle of Lake Superior in all her clothes? Lake Superior is not a warm lake.

Apparently, the answer was yes. Astrid held her shoes. And while the teens were doing their best Greg Louganis impressions, Chris sort of stumbled off the platform in a half-dive, half-belly flop, fully dressed. It was the opposite of graceful. She clambered back up, arms raised in Rocky triumph.

Astrid can’t not photobomb.

As we trekked back, Chris dripped a trail of water from her soaked shirt and shorts, now plastered to her 53-year-old body. Cory and I cried with laughter until snot came out of our noses. People stared at us and I’d say things like “She’s just really sweaty.”

Then our mother came into view and suddenly we sobered up. Three grown women looked nervously at each other.

“What are we gonna tell mom?”

Mom rolled her eyes and handed Chris a sweater, “I hope you’ve got a towel in your car.”

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The yeah write weekly writing challenge birthday bash continues! Link up your 500-word nonfiction story.

So I’m driving in the van with the girls – wait… I probably never need to state that, it’s sort of implied in all my posts – and Akeyla announces, “Easter is Baby Jesus’ birthday!”  Astrid, always looking for opportunities to stomp on her little sister’s buzz, turns, disdainfully, and says, “No it’s not. It’s when Jesus died.”

Akeyla starts to cry. “Baby Jesus is dead?!”

I swoop in. “No, the baby isn’t dead. He was a man when he died.”

Astrid: “Yeah, the Romans killed him.”

Akeyla:  “They killed Baby Jesus?” (cries louder).

Me: “Actually, Easter isn’t when Jesus died, anyway. It’s when Christians believe he rose from the dead. He was killed, and they put him in a tomb – like a cave – and there was a giant rock in front of it like in Indiana Jones? And then they came back to check on his dead body but the giant rock was gone. Then people said they saw him but he was like an angel.”

Akeyla:  (still crying about the murder of the Baby Jesus).

Astrid: “What’s up with the bunnies then? And the chocolate?”

Me (heavy sigh): “Well, so the Romans became Christians after a good long while and then decided everyone in their lands should also be Christians and they had lots of lands. But those people had their own beliefs and…”

Astrid: “And they believed in chocolate bunnies?”

Me: “No. But they celebrated a spring festival and there was a goddess called Eostre, and another one called Ishtar. Which sound suspiciously like Easter, huh? Huh? And these were festivals of new birth and spring and baby chicks and bunnies and eggs and all that. Stuff that comes out in the spring. So the Romans thought, hey, let’s put our Jesus holiday right at the same time and call it Easter and then it will practically seem like their holiday! And they’ll have to celebrate our holiday because ha! It sounds the same and it’s at the same time. It was like a Gregorian Chant/Enya mash-up only the Romans turned up the Gregorian Chants to “eleven” and pretty much drowned out Enya. They won.”

Astrid: “Yeah, Mom? I have no idea what you are talking about. And anyway, what about the chocolate?”

Me: “Well, it’s delicious. If you want people to celebrate your holiday instead of their holiday, you take their symbols and you form them into delicious chocolate treats.”

Akeyla: “Can you tell the Easter Bunny I don’t like Twizzlers? They hurted my teeth last year.”

Me: “Noted.”

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