Candy Crisis

After last night's Halloween extravaganza (aka Trick-or-Treat), I have mounds of candy in my house.  My kids are old enough now to move quickly and strategize cleverly, and they maximize their candy haul.  In fact, they both stopped home, twice, breathless, to empty their bags and head back out . . . moving more quickly with a lightened load.

There are mountains of chocolate bars and haystacks of pixie-sticks calling my name. I don't usually like pixie-sticks, but if I have enough of the good stuff, I'll eventually move on to those. 


If I could have just one or two pieces of my most favorite candy and then stop, there wouldn't be an issue.  But, alas, I have learned through many years of tedious trial and error, I am wired to want more candy . . . when I have more candy.  Thus begins a almost never-ending cycle:  have a little candy -- want more candy -- have more candy -- want even more candy --

So.

If I don't handle this right, I will be on a carb-bender right up until Thanksgiving (the American holiday most renowned for traditional over-indulging).  That guilt and remorse will ride me right to Christmas where I will, momentarily, give up Halloween candy and Thanksgiving pie for candy canes, Christmas cookies, egg nog, and whatever other festive delicacies don't move out of my way.  That will keep me busy until New Year's Eve . . . champagne and other indulgences there; don't want to start the new year off un-festively, now do we?  Procrastination, guilt, and regret will keep me indulging until Valentine's Day (with, of course, the Super Bowl in the middle there, somewhere) and my husband, since he was raised right, always turning up with a lovely box of chocolates for his by-now-cherub-chubby valentine.  Then comes Easter and, I'm telling you, those orange jelly beans call to me like no other . . . and then I finally straighten up . . . just in time for . . . Mother's Day.  Yep, I usually begin my New Year's diet just in time for Mother's Day, forgoing any indulgent breakfasts in bed or special suppers out, mad at myself for how not-ready-for-shorts-and-sleeveless-shirts I am.

See?  See why this is such a critical moment for me?

Best I get control of this little problem right now.

So here's my strategy:  commit to eating only one kind of candy and when that candy is gone, no more.  No branching out to my second-favorite candy, and then my third, and then pretty soon I'm settling for candy I would never usually give a second look . . . for me, that would be something like Smarties.  (Nothing wrong with Smarties, but once I settle for a Smartie, I know I've gone around that senseless, sugary bend.)

This year, I choose KitKat.  I will allow myself to enjoy an occasional KitKat, but when they're gone -- which will be soon because there aren't many -- they're gone.  And I'm done. 

This Mother's Day, no diets for me.  Nope.  I'll be donning a new, sleeveless spring dress at my indulgent Mother's Day brunch . . . guilt free.