The boys came home this year (as with every year) with ridiculous amounts of Halloween candy. My wife’s rule is that they can eat it, but only if they ask first, and only until Easter, at which point the leftover Halloween candy gets thrown out.
Typically, this arrangement results in three weeks of the kids asking for candy every time they go into their room. After three weeks, they get sick of being told no, and the candy sits there mostly untouched.
It’s kind of a depressing thing to have happen to Halloween candy. I’d rather let them go crazy on it: gorge on the candy, enjoy it to the max, and then be sick for a little while. It just seems like more fun.
This year, though, we haven’t had any questions about eating candy. My wife hasn’t noticed, and I’ve been quietly listening and watching to see what’s going on.
Yesterday, as I was saying good night to my oldest son, I noticed that his trash can had been moved out from under his desk, and it was filled to the brim with candy wrappers.
“Nice trashcan,” I said.
He groaned. “I really wish you hadn’t seen that.”
“In the future, you’re going to want to be more careful.”
He paused for a moment, then jumped into bed and pulled the covers up. “Good night, Dad!”
“Good night, kiddo.”