Halloween - The Day After

I went to bed sick.

Not sick, like the flu.

Sick like honey don't move the bed

or I am going to hurl all over your face.

I've done it every year

since I can remember.

You would think I would have 

learned my lesson

as a youngster.

But, I guess I never did.

So now I am on the other side of the 

"only three pieces"

and I really should know better.

Way better.

And I guess somewhere deep down there I do.

But, apparently

my greedy little fingers don't.

Add this to the fact

that my stomach

isn't as tolerable as it used to be

and my bowels

bellowed through the night.

"Please don't do this to us,"

they screamed.

"We know you know better!"

I get out of bed

and resolve to eat nothing

but dairy and fiber

for at least 24 hours

if not 2,004 whole minutes.

I sit at the kitchen table

and notice that the kids must have

eaten 12 more pieces for breakfast

and stashed 20 each in their backpacks.

They made a sizable dent.

I long for the days of larger families.

I only have 4 kids

and I need at least 7

like my mom used to have

to get rid of this candy.

How can we possibly have more candy

than all 6 of my brothers and sister and I?

I chuckle to myself

because my kids really don't care

that I make them put all their candy in one pot,

Just like my mother used to do to me.

They protested, just like I did.

"No mom let us keep our candy in our dresser drawers."

They didn't fight back too strong

because secretly somewhere inside

they have the same screaming voice

like I do.

"Save us. Please!"

They ignore the voice

and they don't protest about the shared bucket

because it's bigger than they can remember

and they know they are still going to get

plenty of candy.

Too much candy.

I had to switch from my original choice to

a tupperware super-size bin to hold the mounds of candy.

You know, like a trough size.

I reach over and take an Almond Joy

because if I don't start eating them now

they will never go away.

Nobody in my family eats Almond Joy,

nobody but me.

I think I should retrieve all the Lemonheads

for Sophia because they are her favorites

until I realize that Lemonheads are to Sophia

like the dark chocolate is to daddy.

They are her responsibility

in saving the family from prolonged misery.

Then I grab a glass of milk,

as quick as I can

and I try to think of somewhere safe to hide the candy

but I might as well eat the Reese's on top

because it goes so well with a glass of milk.

The baby comes over and starts handing me

suckers of every kind.

Apparently she wants to help us all

out of our misery too.

Tootsie Pop, Blow Pop, Dum-Dum.

It's going really well

until she asks me to open the

eyeball sucker

and when we finally pry it open

it is broken in two.

She thinks I did it on purpose

and she is so sugared

that she throws a monster size fit.

She can only get away with that

the day after Halloween.

O.k. maybe the week after Halloween.

The week before I get to my wit's end

and chuck the rest of the candy into the garbage

a sneaky handful at a time.

Man, I should just stash it away

and save it for Valentines.

Oh, I can't even think about Valentines right now.

It's physically painful.

Meanwhile, I start at the 10 boxes of Candy sticks
(you know they come in little boxes of two
and resemble the old school candy cigarettes)

that Caroline had handed to me

before the suckers.

She wanted me to open them for her

and I didn't

because I didn't want to share.

They are my favorite.

Oh someone,

please come and rob us of our

Halloween candy.

Send it all to the kids

throughout the world

that really need it.

That way I'll have a viable explanation

for my four children

who are guaranteed

to be sick, ornery, and inconsolable the rest of the week.

I won't even go into what their bowels have to say to me.
Yes, I'm the child bowel whisperer.

The bowels tell me it's a little too personal
to tell you the nitty gritties,

but I will share the part of the secret

that says upset bowels sound like bellowing cows.

Milk me. Milk me. Milk me now.

Maybe I should tell the kids that their colons

made me throw it away.
"I'm so sorry girls
but they held me hostage until I did something drastic."

This is the first Halloween that my husband 

has celebrated as a diabetic. 

Well, the first year he's been diagnosed

He was probably diabetic

every year on Halloween since he can remember.
Now I have to eat his candy too.
The woes of being a mother.
You always have to pick up any slack
for non-cooperating members of the family.

Where is that neighbor who used to give us apples?

We need about 100 of him
then I could just can it all away
for the dead of winter.

Do you know that tomorrow is my birthday?

I think it is rather cruel of God

to give me a birthday during the week of the year

when everyone is just rolling about

trying to break down the heap.

One sickening bite at a time.

Oh, cookie monster,

I can't even think about you and your struggles right now

or I will start crying uncontrollably

and won't be able to stop

until I discover that Elmo

is an in the closest candy addict.

Save me. Please. Save me.

I am about to butterfinger it for lunch

and who knows where I'll be by dinner.

But no matter how far I go

or how sick I get

that blasted candy is going to be

staring at me, taunting me, calling me chicken

the rest of the month.

P.S. If you are anonymous comenter #2
from the October giveaway
on the LunchWars Post,
please make yourself known.
Maybe you can learn
from the nutrition nazi
the things that I am too dumb to incorporate.

P.P.S. I just found out that I not only got a free book
for doing that book review,
but I got paid $20.
If the book wasn't enough to steer
me away from the candy
maybe the money
can pay for an intervention.