Of course the title of this post speaks for itself. Who would even ask me what a bunny picnic is? That is so so obvious it’s not even worth discussing. But, since I have a blog post to write, I’ll tell you about it in descriptive detail…..knowing full well that everyone already knows all about bunny picnics. (Plus, I owe Lauren the full story of what our daughters do when left to their own devices.)
Normal weekend day, beautiful weather, super-girl Elle over for a playdate….this is my cue to mentally check out. They’ll be busy for hours! Of course it will take days to clean up the messes they make as they play unattended, but in the moment, a few hours of “alone time” while staying in the same house sounds worth it.
(Check back in with me after clean up is over. After I’ve removed the soaking dolls who got their hair washed off the bathroom rug and into the bathtub, picked up the 88th Barbie shoe hidden in the carpet, removed every sheet in the house from the clothespins securing them to whatever exists on the walls to support a fort, and soaked up the water poured into the fake kitchen’s fake kitchen sink (no drain here girls). Then we’ll discuss if unsupervised play time was worth it….I may have changed my mind.)
But today doesn’t go as planned. They don’t pull out the make up and transform themselves into streetwalker-like characters. They don’t pretend they’re old ladies and call each other Eunice while hobbling around holding their backs (making me VERY self conscious about my complaints of a sore back this morning!). And they don’t hide out in the playground fort outside and color up there, bringing every pen, marker, crayon, stuffed animal, and snack food from the pantry up their with them. (I emphasize this, because climbing up and down the ladder to retrieve all that crap is NOT a good way to stop my complaints of back pain. And I do not wish to be a character in their next old lady play!)
Today they scurry around me as I’m trying my best to lounge on the couch and do nothing productive as I attempt to ignore them. But I see ladders moving about, and shouts to each other for help, and peanut butter and spinach getting tossed around in the kitchen. And finally, higher-octave-incessant-chatter punctuated with gleeful laughs from all 3 of them, and this is my final cue that something bad is going down.
“We’re going to take the bunny on a picnic!” they shriek at me when I ask what could possibly be happening that makes them this excited?
Oh God no. That means I’m getting off the couch.
My reply, as is my usual standard reply to anything they try to do on the weekends: “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“Yes! It will be fun mommy! He (the bunny) will love it!”
No he won’t.
And I definitely won’t.
Damn the bunny picnic idea!!! How do they come up with this stuff???
Sure there’s more protesting, and more suggestions of other stuff they should do around here. I even go so far as to suggest we find something in the arts and crafts cabinet. And the girls know I NEVER suggest peeking into THAT cabinet! The climax of ideas that don’t sound like a good idea live in that cabinet!
But they won’t be swayed. So of course, I help.
I make sandwiches, I get snacks, waters, and of course….a lunch fit for a bunny. Spinach, carrots, and some berries for dessert. Come on, bunnies need dessert. They do. Well, they do if they are forced on a picnic. Bunnies don’t love picnics, contrary to popular belief, so dessert is the compensation. (spoiler alert…this bunny did not like the main course OR the dessert. Just sayin, bunnies…picnics….no bueno.)
So we’re off. They thought they’d walk to the park. Carrying the bunny. They are hysterical.
Take a look at a bunny who is absolutely uninterested in being at the park for a picnic.
He would have gladly stayed inside that carrier the entire time.
God help him, 3 little girls who have worked so hard to make this picnic happen would never let him miss the fun.
So they form a “fence” around him with their legs and force him out into the open.
This is an important shot.
See the chips Payton is eating? Nacho chips?
They may be a healthier version of Doritos, but they certainly don’t stain your fingers any less. Her mits were covered in orange cheese powder. No one really cares, until the bunny takes off at one point and tries to bolt over the “leg fence” and Payton is the closest so grabs him with her cheesy hands. So his pure white coat is now marred with orange fingerprints and it actually looks like a bunny massacre if bunnys bled orange. I try my best to clean him up, but that stuff stains. And bunnys don’t lick themselves too much. So it was a good couple days of having a bunny with permanent handprints on his back.
Elle is eating her applesauce with her finger. Do I not see a spoon lying on that picnic basket? Well, even if there was an available spoon, isn’t it so much more fun to lick applesauce off your fingers? And so much tastier with that bunny hair and dead grass mixed in! (Sorry Lauren, if you need to shut this down and preserve your memories of how you *thought* I took care of your daughter when she’s at my house, I’d understand.)
He spots me.
Oh, he knows my role in this family is the bunny protector.
He’s sending me the secret signal we have. When playtime gets rough, and he’s fed up with getting shoved into baby strollers, tucked into blankets, or stretched out like super bunny and “flown” around the house.
He knows I step in and shut down the chaos when he’s yelling bunny mercy with those ears and those eyes.
But what he doesn’t know is, I’m also the victim today. I didn’t want to attend this bunny picnic either.
So you’re on your own today pal.
And just like that, he’s had it.
He repeatedly jumps over legs and tries to run for it.
Harper does her best to calm him, but he’s sick of it.
No amount of spinach or carrots or raspberries or strawberries will keep him contained.
And so just like that, he’s back in his carrier (not his choice this time but hers), and the door gets zipped up.
Ooooh, so final!
And just as fast, the girls are up, finished with their food, and bolting to the playground.
Not a single word to me or the bunny before they leave.
The rudest end to a bunny picnic if I’ve ever
seen imagined one.
So I pack all the crap up, take the bunny in his carrier, go to a picnic table and read my book. But not before I send Elle’s dad a quick text, updating him that the bunny picnic was as successful as was expected.
And to that he responded:
“The girls left and you’re stuck with the bunny?”
Don’t worry Cookie, that’s the last picnic you and I will ever attend.