Chocolate's gonna kill me.
I woke up this morning to the smell of chocolate in the air. Not hot chocolate, mind you. Real chocolate, pure chocolate, Halloween chocolate. Hundreds of pieces of chocolate that made their evil ways into our house last night and the leftover that I didn't give away that's still sitting in a cute basket on the couch.
You know that Halloween smell. Stick your nose into your kids' Halloween bag and breathe. There's your childhood right there. Do you remember the excitement of looking through all your loot, dumping it on the floor, trading with your siblings, stashing it away, eating 1 or 5 or 10 pieces a day depending on your disposition?
Remember how your Mom would come into your room in March and find 80 little wrappers under your bed? Do you remember running home from school every day in November to eat some candy? Do you remember counting your candy before you left for school and then when you got home? And when you accused your Mom of stealing your Hershey's she said, "How dare you accuse me of stealing chocolate?" But then you found a bunch of little wrappers in her bedroom garbage can?
My Dad never had this problem. If he knew there was Halloween candy in the house he didn't give it a second thought. Men! He had a talent for carving some really swell pumpkins with wavy eyebrows and silly ears, but that was about his main contribution to the whole Halloween thing. Oh and he had this awesome Frankenstein mask that he pulled out to scare the neighborhood kids on Halloween. But the candy thing? No.
That's what I remember. And that's what I smelled coming down the stairs this morning. Memories. Memories of when I was a kid and the reality of motherhood today and that horrible temptation I have to steal, plunder and pilfer my kid's Halloween candy.
Oh it is real. I want to offer big bucks for them to toss it in the garbage. Because I know myself. I know how I will think about where they have "hidden" it. And that it will not be hidden at all. It will call out to me like a kid who can't find his shoes or homework or soccer ball. I know it will irritate me until it is out of this house.
So I think of all that chocolate sitting around, and how long it's going to take to actually be out of the house, and then I think of the glutinous Thanksgiving feast later this month. And December? December's like a a big ho ho fest of candy and treats and stuff you hate to eat and love to eat all at once. It's the month when you feel sick about what you just ate but are forced to think about the next thing you have to make for the event tomorrow. And you go off to the stores to buy more stuff to make food that you feel bad about eating.
Help! Someone beam me to a planet where food isn't necessary to live. Oh, and can that planet also let me shave my head? 'Cause having to have cute hair every day is REALLY getting to me. Oh, and if that planet must have food, can the men be in charge of it? The ones who remain fit and trim for years on end and have no idea what it's like to fix food day in and out for a family and for every stinkin' event in a lifetime?
I am feeling a little put upon about the food thing about how unfair it is. And I am worried about what the next two months could do to my body and brain. Plain and simple, I dread what could happen.
And so, this morning, after I tossed a couple of Hershey's kisses into my mouth because if I smell chocolate I also have to TASTE it, I realized something else about today!! It's fast Sunday, and I just blew it.
I can't win.