We ended Easter Sunday with a trip to the beach.
"Whoa!" The Boy shouted as we climbed up over the dune. "Where dat ocean come from?! Hey Momma! Dere water behind you!"
I dipped The Lad's toes in the chilly water to commemorate his first ocean view. The Boy dug in the sand and picked up seashells. We all watched pelicans glide over the water.
When we got home, we decided to pop The Boy quickly into the shower with his Daddyman.
"You've even got sand in your diaper," the husband said, undressing The Boy.
"I'd say there's some poo there, too," I said, eying from across the room a dark spot on The Boy's rear.
"There's none in the diaper. Are you -- Oh my gosh! It's a quarter!"
My child had a quarter stuck between his cheeks. FOR HOURS. Before dinner, he had been tossing change -- left in eggs by the Easter Bunny -- in the air. I was busy feeding The Lad. The husband was cooking. Neither of us saw what happened before The Boy began shouting, "Mine money! Where my money go?" We admonished him not to throw it any more and figured it had rolled under the couch or something. Nope. It had lodged in the top of his diaper, though we'll never know how.
I do know that if, someday, The Boy tells his children, my grandchildren, that he cannot pull money out of his ass for whatever new toy they covet, I will look at them and say: "Yes, in fact, he can."