All familiar characters belong to Janet. All the Easter ideas I saw online. Mistakes are solely mine.

'Crack!'

At one time, the sound of a 'shell casing' exploding would have me diving for cover and then immediately returning fire. This morning in our kitchen, I only smiled at the eggshell that just fractured against the surface of the table.

"No wonder they say these bad boys need to be hard-boiled first," Steph was saying to Olive. "They wouldn't make it to the dye phase otherwise."

"Bad boyd," Olivia agreed, tapping the egg that's next up.

"Maybe you should've stuck with the standard egg-dyeing procedure," I said to them. "That way the eggs would've only been subjected to one crack when they hit the base of the glass."

"Where's the fun in that? We try new things around here. And painting our eggs and then making them fizz is double the fun even if it quadruples the egg cracks."

I can get over the scent of vinegar permeating the kitchen just by watching Olivia enjoy decorating her eggs. First was brushing each one with a baking soda paste, then squirting them with the food colorings of their choice, and both she and Steph doused the whole mess with white vinegar, so they fizzed up, foamed, and then revealed their multicolored shells for our baby to 'Oooooh' over.

We're closing in on Easter Sunday, but this isn't their only holiday project. This past week, the hour before bath time was dedicated to turning our toddler into a human stamp. I got in a slight weight-lifting session as I repeatedly lifted up our daughter's body, allowed her to 'splash' her feet into non-toxic, washable paint, and stamped a set of her footprints onto different colored pieces of construction paper.

Steph's goal, for whatever reason, was to make Olivia's feet into 'bunny feet', adding ears and a picture of our baby's face, to create Easter bunnies for each Uncle. To take overkill one step further, she was adding the words 'Some Bunny loves you' to every one of them.

"I know people change after years of marriage," I teased, "but weren't you the woman who couldn't manage to get a picture into a frame ... or buy a frame to start with?"

"Yes," she said, flapping the cotton ball body of one already completed rabbit at me. "But you underestimate how much I love torturing the guys. I enjoy watching them turn beet red, swallow audibly, and start sweating as they try to figure out how to say they love whatever Olive gives them while still staying stoic."

"You're an evil woman, Babe."

"Not really. I'm just trying to establish an equal playing field now that I have my life and myself mostly put together. They had years of seeing me covered in garbage, reeking of smoke from something that just exploded near me, or crying uncontrollably from stress or adrenaline. They should consider themselves lucky that I'm using Olive 'I Love Yous' as payback. Plus, I don't think we'll have enough time to do stuff like this when we have two kids running our lives and apartment."

She does have a point. Caring for a newborn while keeping a toddler occupied, and a teen entertained when Julie visits, I feel will require more dedication and physical energy than Ranger School.

Easter morning offered a glimpse of that prediction.

"It da caaaandy lots!" Olivia yelled, when she discovered what me and Steph had to hide until we heard our baby's mattress creaking as she started waking up.

Leaving food, toys, or a basket out was a no-go with Gunny, Mo, and Mado around. What 'the boys' couldn't reach, Mado would knock over for them just to make room for a new place to stretch out on. So, Steph hauled ass to put Olive's basket out where she'd see it and then got back into our room before she was caught.

"Everything in that basket is yours, Olive," Steph explained when we joined her, "but you can't have the candy in 'lots' amounts. After breakfast we can go through everything, and you can pick your three favorite candy treats for today. Okay?"

"Fourd," our daughter tried.

"Nice try but knowing how to count to four doesn't mean everything comes in quadruplets now," I reminded her.

"You'll want some happy stuff left to have tomorrow too," Steph added. "Too much of a good thing means it doesn't last for long."

"You should bumper sticker that," I told her, lowering my head to kiss her.

She playfully pushed me in retaliation but was smiling when she did. As we became more serious as a couple, we swapped family holiday stories and I know Easter was one that was particularly arduous in the Plum household. Helen wouldn't allow for egg dyeing or hiding them in her home because of the mess and potential stench if one egg was never recovered. Church, and meeting with the church ladies afterwards in a potluck-style breakfast, lasted for most of the morning. And any candy that was found at the end of the day was thrown away without a word.

Needless to say, our daughter's holiday morning ran more along the lines of a Manoso one.

"Would you like a scrambled egg bunny face with bacon ears for breakfast? Or a pancake bunny with banana ears?" I heard my wife ask our daughter.

Either way, I'll be manning the stove to achieve the desired result. Though, if Olivia goes the pancake route, I know Steph can handle slicing the ears.

"Tote toons," was our baby's decision.

That stumped Steph. "Huh. You want toast?"

Olive nodded.

"Ooookay, that throws off my ideas …"

"I'm on it," I assured them.

I'm better with a knife than even Hector is. I took a slice of bread and cut an Easter bunny outline out of the center of it. Once it was buttered and set in a hot skillet, I cracked into the rabbit hole an egg that escaped being dyed. It's not a small mound of scrambled eggs, but it is a festive fried one filled with the same protein.

Since Olivia had to wear a formal flower girl dress recently, she and Steph went more casual for her holiday outfit today. She had white leggings and her pink work boots under a jean skirt and 'fuzzy bunny' T-shirt. Considering Olive did name it Fuzzy Bunny, and can't stop petting the soft, white faux fur face, I don't have to guess that it's going to be added into her daily clothing rotation.

Steph and I went the more formal route. Black dress pants and dark gray button-down for me to make Stephanie's pale blue lace dress appear more of an ode to Spring rather than just the sexy dress she wanted a chance to wear before our second baby became more apparent.

"You ready to bring lunch to the Uncles?" Steph asked Olivia.

"Bing egg down ders."

"It's cute that you think one hard-boiled egg will count as 'lunch' to men who require a minimum of three-thousand calories a day to maintain their muscle mass."

"Daddy's being a downer again, Olive-Pie, but we're giving each Uncle a specially-colored egg anyway before we head to Newark and the grandparents."

"I gotz zem," our baby said, trying to grab a basket full of the refrigerated eggs from her Mama.

She let our baby take the smaller one. "See how smart we are? We didn't put all our eggs in one Olive-holding basket."

"Babe."

"Sorry. It's not like I'm going to have eggs in a basket any other time. I couldn't resist." She kissed me on her way by. "I couldn't resist that either."

"I'm happy to hear it."

It's not often to have a wife as obsessed with you as you are with her.

"It Bunny Day!" Our baby declared as soon as the elevator opened up to the fifth floor.

We did make a pit stop on the sixth floor to give Ella and Louis a large gift basket filled with treats Stephanie knows they enjoy that Ella didn't have to make herself. My contribution was a sizable holiday bonus for each. My organization wouldn't run as smoothly as it does if it weren't for the Guzmans. And between my mother, Edna, and Ella ... Helen hasn't been missed at all on the grandmother front.

"More like it's Egg Day," Stephanie said. "Because Olive colored an egg and made an Oli-bunny for each of you. Let's get busy showing your Uncles what we've done to - I mean - for them."

I could count to ten a couple times, waiting for Olivia to carefully deliberate on which egg belongs to the Uncle in front of her. Ten minutes in, and only Bobby and Ram were 'served'. I distracted myself by trying to figure out how she was deciding who got which egg. The five colors used are all the same, only the designs differ. So, going desk-to-desk and waiting at each one, became a fascinating look into how my daughter's mind works.

"Pink and blue?" Tank asked when she bestowed his egg upon him. "Is this one of those gender reveal-things and you're telling us you're gonna have one of each?"

"No. We've stopped handing Olive informational props. And don't make me ruin this sweet family moment by kicking you for putting that idea out there," Steph warned. "Olive only picked the egg she thought was perfect for you."

"I da like dat one. It pretty," Olive stated when he held it up to see if maybe black or gray could be detected somewhere underneath the outer colors.

"Hear that GodTank?" My wife teased. "She gave you a pretty egg because she thinks you're pretty."

"Or … she gave me her favorite egg because I'm her favorite. What'd you get?"

"A daughter who loves her Mama the most … well, when I'm not going up against her Daddy."

"It's not a contest," I told her, though having my daughters love me is not something I'll ever play down.

"Good, because it's always possible you'd lose, Batman," she stated.

She's likely telling the truth. Olivia is a Daddy's girl, but there's no separation between Stephanie and her mini-me. It'd be interesting and likely deadly if anyone tried to separate them.

"Hah, my egg is blue and green," Santos said as Olivia moved down the line of desks.

"Probably because our Olive-Pit can't decide if you're an extra from Avatar or just an elf," Ramon told him.

"You're acting like a baby because your egg is mostly purple," Lester fired back.

"Yeah, purple is the color of royalty. Olive knows what she's doing."

Apparently, she does, because with one statement, she redirected everyone's attention.

"Mama eat-ed da baby," our daughter said, pointing at Steph's stomach, which a few weeks in is only rounding out if you have a microscope.

"No, Olive, Mama is growing with the baby. I did not eat anything except breakfast."

"Olive's is probably the only news that would shock your mother more than finding out the Boss knocked you up again," Santos added.

"First off, Ranger didn't do anything I didn't equally participate in ..."

"Ick, Steph," was Woody's response. "You and the Boss are like our parents, and parents don't do ... that."

I was tempted to torture him by filling him in on how often we still do that, but it's something to be shared only between me and my wife.

"Then how'd you get here? A stork? Cabbage Patch? A Petri dish?" Steph asked him. "As I was saying, my mom's reaction isn't important. She'll get about as much input into this baby's life as she has with Olive. Which is none. She can try to use the news to wheedle her way back in, but me and my Dad are happy … and we've agreed not to let her get a toehold in our lives again. Even Mary Lou's mom, the queen of etiquette, hangs up on her now."

I was worried Steph would feel a twinge of regret at how things had worked out - or didn't work out at all - with her mother. But one thing my Babe excels at now is making a decision and not looking back despite the outside noise.

Steph and I had left our apparent oversized children to finish their workday on the fifth floor, and we took turns carrying Olivia back to Seven once all her eggs had been personally handed out. We had about forty-minutes before we were set to leave for my parents' place when Mary Alice knocked on our door. The Kloughn family, along with Edna, Frank, and Aideen are joining us for Easter lunch-into-Easter dinner, and it appears Valerie arrived here with time to spare. Olivia is minutes away from seeing why.

"Grandpa wants to know if Olive can come down and visit for a few minutes," Mary Alice informed us as Angie rolled her eyes behind her sister, not being impressed by the reason Frank is excited.

"I hope this has nothing to do with eggs," Steph said, gently nudging our dogs away from the door and visitors so she could talk to her nieces. "It was a bumpy process for us."

Frank, being unlike his ex-wife, had sought me out to ask my permission to alter or add to his apartment since it is my building. I agreed first to what he'd wanted to move in, and also to not saying anything to Stephanie or Olivia until he had his new apartment-piece looking the way he wanted. Olivia's mouth dropped open into a full 'O' shape as her hands lifted to hold her cheeks when she walked into her grandpa's apartment and saw an aquarium the size of a horizontal shower stall.

"It's got lotsa fishies!" She declared as she watched various fish dart away from her when she'd walked up to the glass.

"Wow," Steph said right after. "You weren't kidding, Dad, when you said you needed a hobby. This is a big one."

"It a umicorn," our baby said a beat later, seeing a fish with a rainbow set of scales and two feelers stretching out in front of its body.

"That one is a Dwarf Gourami, Olive," Frank told her. "At least that's what the 'Aquarium King' told and sold me."

"What dat?" She asked, pointing to what I know is an Angel fish, but I let Frank have his moment.

"It's an Angel fish, like you and your cousins are … angels."

"That makes Val and I … what?" Steph teased.

"Troublemakers?" I supplied.

Valerie looked pleased by that suggestion, my wife not so much. But we both know causing trouble is a hiring requirement here at Rangeman.

"You hear that, Albert?" Valerie said to her pet husband. "Ranger thinks I'm a troublemaker."

His typical perplexed expression turned even more confused. "He does? Why?"

"You've been married to my sister for forever now," Steph said to him, "but you still have A LOT to learn about her. A Goody-Two-Shoes loves hearing they could be a rule-breaker."

"Is that true, Mom?" Angie asked Valerie.

"No. Aunt Stephanie is just trying to be funny. Being good is all you need in order to feel good. Now … look at those fish. Is that a shrimp, Dad?"

"It is. I was assured Amano Shrimp make peaceful tank mates to Olivia's unicorn fish, who also help keep the tank clean with a few types of little catfish. I did my research so I wouldn't end up with a tank full of dead fish. I was promised that the plants will grow and fill in the tank so it'll look like a tropical habitat when they all reach maturity."

"That's the spirit," Steph said. "Studying to keep things alive that most people kill inside a week and then flush when it comes to the fish."

"Don't talk like that, Aunt Steph," Mary Alice told her. "You'll jinx the fish."

"I wouldn't want to do that," my wife replied. "But I think the fish are about to have a much bigger, more destructive tank mate."

I caught Olivia around her middle before she could go from pressing her face against the glass to trying to climb it and into it.

"You need gills to be a mermaid, Olive," I informed her. "We don't want to hurt the fish, so we need to stay out of their tank."

"But I da swim," she stated.

"You can swim, but in a swimming pool not an aquarium. You need more room than a fish cage provides."

"Look over here, Olivia," Frank said, "you can see the underside of a Horned Nerite Snail if you come to this side of the tank and look closely."

"Ewww," she said this time, but still kept her nose pressed to the glass near where the snail's radula was cleaning.

"Just consider the Olive face-print on that shiny new aquarium an Easter present, Dad," Steph said.

She isn't exaggerating. Olivia was trying to get so close to the action inside the water, her nose became flat against the glass wall that divided them. I pulled my cell out and waited for my call to be answered.

"¡Hola!, Mamá. No, everything's fine. It just looks like we're going to be a little late leaving here."