I hide candy from my children...
I am preventing
diabetes. I am saving money. I am preventing
cavities. I am teaching them how to eat
healthy. Processed sugar is
not good for their growing bodies...
is the devil.
I do it so I can eat it all myself.
My days of eating candy without a chaperone are
gone. I do not have children when candy
appears; I have birds of prey. Not even
half a rice krispie from a Krackle survives with those vultures circling. Beady eyes with sharp beaks moving and
pecking all around...
Now I resort to desperate measures.
I buy it and deny it like a junkie in rehab. I search Craigslist and pay with cash.
No receipts. No records.
I meet “a guy” for a bag of Skittles and a fun size Kit
Kat. I tuck away Hershey bars in a tampon box under the bathroom sink and shove
Lemonheads in a hollowed out college Calculus book .
Chick-O-Stick and a watermelon BlowPop reside in a box of Super All-Bran on the
top shelf of the pantry. An Almond
Snickers takes up space in a Velveeta box while a bag of Hershey Kisses takes
up residence in a box of frozen peas.
They never think to look under the beet salad or the half a head of
I have been getting bold lately, though.
I recently stuffed a box of Peeps up the sleeve of my
shirt and waved to my children as I walked by. Daughter Number Two asked me what was wrong
with my elbow.
Last Saturday after I returned from grocery shopping, I put
M&M’s in my hand and brought it to my mouth with a fake cough to secretly
flaunt the candy coated gems and send them into my mouth - right under their
tiny little beaks.
“Did you smell that?”
birds. Scratching through bags. Searching
fruitlessly. Broccoli and cauliflower strewn
across the counter. A jug of milk cast
off in despair. Dented cans of tomatoes
forlorn and abandoned.
Unfortunately, I suddenly choked on a W (must have gone
down the wrong way) and the kids came running.
“Hey, what’s that?”
The Little One eyed me suspiciously and closed the drapes.
The Big One put her knee on me.
The Middle One...turned…
and locked the door.