For the rest of my life, I think Easter Sunday will always remind me of the following Sammy story:
Last year, we baptized Lucy on Easter Sunday. Carrie is Lucy's godmother, so she and her boys were staying at our house. On Holy Saturday, Carrie and I were preparing for the gargantuan task of getting 6 children under the age of 6 dressed up and out of the house in time for 8:30 Mass along with the added complication of Easter Bunny festivities. I doubt lunar launches require less coordination and planning.
At any rate, after ironing and bathing, setting the coffee pot, tracking down tights and hair bows and packing diapers and distractions, we sat the kids down and gave them a stern reminder of how the next morning would go. It was a beautiful lecture--all about the importance of Lucy's blessed event, the many reasons NOT to eat chocolate in your dress up clothes, how jelly beans are NOT a vegetable worthy of being called "breakfast", the value in arriving at church early on a holiday etc. etc. As the kids' attention began to wander, Carrie stopped and, in her best kindergarten teacher voice, asked, "Now, what did I just say?" Sammy rolled his eyes.
"We know. We know. Eat breakfast and wear fancy shoes."
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