when good parenting goes bad...

For the past two year, I've made it a habit on Halloween to let the kids eat their trick or treat candy to their hearts delight and their bellies dismay for that one day only. I'd read that this is better on their teeth than letting them eat just a little bit a day for the rest of their lives (which is how long it would take to get through our, I mean their, loot).

And the way they look at me when I tell them to go ahead, have another Kit-Kat and after that, eat the Twix, just save me the Twizzlers... They look at me with such appreciation and adoration, it's almost worth nursing them through their bellyaches at night.

Then, the next day, when they begin asking for their candy again, I take them to a toy store where I "buy" their candy with a little toy of their choice, and that's that.

Except that's not that for me.

Today, while working from home on a project that I'm not totally immersed in yet, I visited the orange plastic jacko, which is snugly hidden away out of reach of smallish childrens, approximately seven times. Okay, exactly seven times. On the 6th visit, I tried to stop myself.

"Self," I said. "Just because you ran 10 miles yesterday doesn't mean you get to eat what you want for the rest of your life."

"It doesn't?"

"Nope. What's the point of running and working so hard to stay in shape if you keep visiting Jack?"

"Come on! Laffy Taffy doesn't have any fat in it!"

"It doesn't if you only have one piece..."

"Oh, Self... Don't be such a party pooper," I said, snatching the banana flavored Laffy Taffy, as well as a Twix bar and a cute little red box of Hot Tamales, my personal fave.

And now, well, I am one sick mama with a big bellyache. Wonder if I could get anyone to buy me out of my candy with a new pair of shoes...

Or maybe I could just pull it together, think about bad dentist bills, and then throw it all away.

Or maybe I could just have one more little box of Hot Tamales...