But while the Easter Bunny managed to hotfoot it up the M11, he forgot that the family was divided for a few days. So my eldest wasn't reunited with his Lindt gold rabbit, complete with red ribbon and small jangly bell, until just before the Royal Wedding.
It sat, quivering with excitement, as Catherine Middleton stunned the whole nation with her Grace Kelly dress and sparkling smile. I swear it rang its tiny little bell to join in with the peals from Westminster Cathedral.
'I didn't think you'd want to watch the wedding,' I said to my eldest.
'Neither did I,' he said. 'I thought I was a Republican. But I'm not.'
That's what's great about being young. You can keep changing your mind about the huge issues of the day - war, religion, AV.
But I was surprised that my teenagers got caught up in the wedding excitement. My middle son went up to St James's Park with a vuvuzela and joined the crowd of a million people waving at the happy couple as they passed.
The British pretend to be dour and practical and unmoved by emotion, but we actually long to get caught up in a sea of romance.
It's not such a cynical world, I thought, smiling.
And then I saw it. The Lindt gold bunny had been decapitated. No ears. No whiskers. Just a red ribbon and a motionless bell.
'You ate his head!' I said to my eldest as he came into the kitchen.
'That's what you have to do,' he said. 'Snap it clean off. A clean break.'
Not that soft-hearted, then.
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