They had a good breakfast: scrambled eggs, lots of protein. Big glasses of water. And now it’s a candy free-for-all. They eat, gleefully. I quietly, stealthily, cull. They don’t notice. Rowan wanders around the house, singing, “This is the last bag of Cheezies, Cheezies, Cheezies…” They say, “I think this is my last one. No, wait, just one more.” Rowan and Isaac have conversations in which they decide that if Skittles weren’t sour, they would just be M&Ms. Rowan tosses a mini Babe Ruth bar to me and says, “Hey, Mom! Knock yourself out!” And I say, “Thank you.”
The candy will be gone soon, and my goal is that it’s gone without too many glances backwards and no fights. I’ll have to figure out what to do with the handfuls upon handfuls of mini chocolate bars and bags of chips shoved into a bag and hidden in my office. (The garbage?)
It’s a bizarre situation, this simultaneous participation in and withdrawal from a set of customs that I don’t like but can’t (or won’t) divorce myself from entirely. Or maybe it’s called Parenting. Or Compromise. Or Living in Society. Or all of the above.
Whatever it is, I’m trying to focus on the sweetness, to leave this and future Halloweens without a bitter coating on the back of my throat.