the meaning of holidays

This past year's Christmas was kind of overwhelming with gifts and hoopla. My children have reached the age when they want everything, and believe that Santa Claus will provide. I believe we, as parents, did this to ourselves, pushing the Santa business down their throats.
Then we get to Valentine's Day, and while we don't celebrate any visits from fictional gift-bearing characters, the kids have come to expect some sort of flashy red box containing nougat filled chocolates.
Fast forward to today, Easter Sunday. The most sacred of holidays, in my opinion. Except, again, the meaning of the holiday is shadowed by gifts...and in this case, it revolves around a giant bunny rabbit. Don't get me wrong, I think kids should have their fun. Heck, I loved Christmas and Easter when I was a child. The food, the fun, the family, and yep, the new stuff made for an excellent day.
So, not wanting to squelch their dreams of candy-filled eggs, I didn't put the kabash to Easter bunny festivities altogether. But I did decide it was time to intervene, and begin to explain to them why we believe holidays, and in particular, Easter, are so important.
Yesterday, I showed my boys excerpts (non-violent ones) from The Passion of the Christ. I wanted them to know about Jesus'crucifixion, and why we celebrate his victory over the grave.
While I'm not convinced they truly get it yet, the outcome was pleasing. Here are some of the things that came up in conversation as we watched:
Isaac: "So they beat him?"
Gabe: "They beating him?"
Me: "Yes, they were very awful to Jesus."
Isaac: "Well...I guess I'm not going to church tomorrow, if this is what happens when you go around Jesus on Easter."
Me: "This happened a long time ago. And God brought Jesus home after that, to Heaven, to forgive all of us on earth."
Isaac: "God gave him pretty good powers, I guess."

Then, today, the boys got their Easter baskets when they woke. They were, as expected, elated to find their goodies in the nests of plastic grass. Isaac put his things down, and said with a very serious tone: "Gabie, let's pray."
Gabe followed suit, bowing his head and clutching his hands together. Isaac began:
"Dear Easter Bunny..."
I interjected that we actually don't pray to the Easter Bunny.
Isaac cleared his throat again:
"Dear God...Thank you for telling your friend, the Easter Bunny, that we are good boys. Well, thank you for telling him that we are not bad boys all the time, I mean."
He opened one eye and looked at me, while I tried to remain composed.
"And thank you, too, for getting Jesus up today."

So, for now, I realize that Santa, God and the Easter Bunny are all on the same level for this kid.
Of course I know this will all have to be sorted out...
For right now, I'm just gonna be okay with it.