"They have three babies, " she said, "give them the goldfish crackers."
The old lady smacked the teenager's hand away from the gloriously large bowl of peanut butter cups in favor of the stupid, small orange crackers we eat almost every day.
But of course the candy is not supposed to be for me. Of course. But why not? After countless hours of collective childbirth & rearing, shouldn't I be able to shamelessly revel in raiding my kids' Halloween candy? I think so. Actually, I think it's only right.
I have a girlfriend who actually gets angry at her husband for swiping at the mini Milky Ways. But she's a good person who teaches Sunday School so maybe she's right and I'm wrong. It is possible.
In the meantime, I'm going hog wild on Tootsie rolls and Butterfingers. Some lady even gave out the big ones this year. No apples. No pennies. No Chick tracts. It was a good year.
Except for the part when Daddy didn't like Haven's homemade monster mask and dressed him as a pirate. There was drama.
But then the sugar coma made up for the madness.
One more thing. When my kids arrived home and dumped their booty on the floor I heard a voice boom through the living room: "Just ONE piece EACH!"
How cold and harsh. How lame and adult. How mom of a thing to say. How shocking to realize I was the one saying it. And all I can say is when did that happen? When did I go from being the one running in the cool dark night, dragging a pillow sack of candy to every house in the county to being the one who sneaks home early to wipe the kitchen table?
I don't know but am still trying to figure it out. Good thing I've got like 500 more mini candy bars to eat while I'm doing so and 3 small children who actually think mommy and daddy are supposed to eat the trick or treat stash.