Don’t bother looking for fun-sized 100 Grand bars. I’ve eaten them all. Every.Single.One.In.The.Entire.Universe.
Ditto for those tiny Twix bars, little Snickers, and mini Kit Kats.
By the way, how is it that Kit Kat bars can get so stale sitting in a hermetically sealed wrapper?
Not that it matters now.
Stale or not, they’re gone.
And by gone, I don’t mean you’ll find them in the trash barrels sitting at the end of our driveway. Rather, you’ll likely locate bits and pieces of chocolate, caramel, and cookie crunch clogging my arteries, enlarging my hips and padding my bottom.
In a moment of Mommy weakness I went on a mid-week chocolate bender and attacked my daughter’s Halloween candy collection.
The good news is the humungo tower of treats that I was so concerned would rot her teeth and cause her sugar levels to spike, has been culled to a more manageable pile that fits comfortably in a medium-sized Ziploc bag.
The things I do for my kid.
I had to.
We have a strict rule in our home regarding Halloween candy: It has to be gone by Veterans Day.
Which is not to say that it has to be consumed by the trick-or-treater or her parents; instead it could be donated to local churches, nursing homes, hospital pediatric wards, Ronald McDonald House Charities or city Meals-on-Wheels programs. Another option is to hand over the Halloween payload to Operation Gratitude which sends care packages to our military service personnel stationed overseas. Any Solider and Operation Shoebox run similar programs for families looking to rid their homes of their children’s holiday sugar stashes.
Apparently, we won’t be donating as much as we did last year.
Dang, willpower.
And by willpower I mean hormones.
Please tell me I am not the only weak parent who took one too many hits from her kid’s Halloween treat bag.