I’m a sugar junkie.
Friends and family who read this are thinking to themselves, “no! really?”
I know, I know.
God bless my mother’s heart for trying to prevent me from eating entire packets of sugar. Like, the ones on the table at Denny’s.
Yes, I was that kid.
And it took a lot of restraint not to eat (too much of) my kid’s Halloween candy last night.
But see, here’s the thing. He’s not going to eat it all.
We enjoyed a few pieces last night, and I’m sure throughout the week he’ll have a couple more… but I have put the big bucket o’ loot up in a cabinet. Out of sight, out of mind. Eventually the indulgence will be reduced to a treat for extra good behavior, or a bribe for something really heinous (like putting NuSkin on an owie).
But most likely what will happen is that bucket will sit in the cabinet, more full than empty, and eventually I’ll start weeding out the unwanted pieces and throwing them away until all that’s left is some of the everlast stuff like sweet tarts and gobstoppers.
That’s the only way he’s ever known Halloween. It’s never been a gorge-yourself on candy until you get a stomachache and a cavity day for him. And I don’t think it ever needs to be.
The joy was in the dressing up. The joy was in the spooky decorated houses and the too-full bucket. My joy was in his joy. At his exclamation of, “Wow, Mama, everyone is being so nice to me!” And his feeling of being “so rich” upon examining the haul when we got home.
I mean, come on, what’s eating all of that going to bring him that even comes close to this?