If you are interested in finding out what a zombie apocalypse looks like, I encourage you to take your small people to the city's egg hunt. This morning I  trimmed Mr. Pants' bangs so that we could get some great shots of him hunting eggs. But it turns out this was my first rodeo, friends and there was no getting a shot of the hunt. Because the hunt was brutal and lasted exactly seventeen seconds. I stood at the ropes with Plum searching for Daddy and Mr. Pants. Scanning the crowd of blood thirsty and rabid parents coaching their children, I couldn't find my boys among the droves. But it mattered not. The gun went off and an everyman for himself frenzy of toddlers out for blood went absolutely heroin crazy. Mr. Pants made it out with one egg. One. And many kids got none. But such is the death match of an egg hunt. At least he got one. Next year, I'm gonna teach him to run for the middle, hit his belly and swoop both arms into his chest then turn and run for the hills. Never to look back. Hopefully he will make it out alive.

The good news is that while the boys were preparing for battle, this little lady I know got to meet Peter Cottontail himself. And she thought he was pretty charming too.

And in a turn of events that surprised no one, Mr. Pants was not as impressed. Instead, he seemed to think the bunny quite ridiculous. As evidenced below in a play by play that goes like this: "I'm playing on this train! Yay!", "Whoa, there's an enormous bunny right there", "Oh shit, I'm out!", and "Not cool, Bunny. Not cool. I'm watching you, dude". The end.