Being haunted by past candy shortages

I hear them in the cupboard calling me. Sometimes, they’re yelling at me: “Sheeelllleeeeey. Come on. It’s OK…Just one.”

It happens every year. Well in advance of the big night, I buy Halloween candy for the soon-to-be cavity-challenged, decorated children in the neighbourhood.

I don’t want to leave it until the last minute because the selection starts sliding in the stores and I don’t want my house labelled: “The house where the mom wasn’t organized enough to get good candy in time.”

But, efficiency brings temptation. I put the bags in the pantry cupboard, where I don’t go often, so I won’t be exposed and neither will my children.

Yet, at one weak moment, I remember that tiny Coffee Crisp and how good it would taste and, well, would we really miss just one? I fight it. Yes, I do.

But then, a daughter will open the pantry for some apple juice and shout, “Hey, when did we get the candy?” and then the temptations flood back.

“Mom? Can we have some?

“No, they’re for Halloween.”

“But, we have lots,” the other one chimes in, eyeing the three big bags.

“No. No. There won’t be enough if you take some.”

“Oh, mom, there’s tons.”

They were on to me. I do buy extra in case we get infiltrated by a mob of ex-pat teenagers and I’m scrambling to hand out chocolate chips and carrot sticks.

I’m haunted by Halloweens past.

I remember the time when we ran out of candies and I had to blow out the Jack-O-Lantern, turn out the lights and the TV and hide with my children in a cloak of guilt at the back of the house, while relentless children rang the doorbell again and again.

Then, there was the time, when I quickly scurried my young children into the house, after their own round of trick-or-treating, and made them hot chocolate in the kitchen.

While they were sipping, I snuck into the other room, took out a few candies from their bags that I knew they wouldn’t like anyway and re-gifted to the few straggling, and tall, ghosts and goblins.

I’ve even erred on the “too nice” side with my guilt.

Not wanting the neighbourhood kids to miss out while I was on trick-or-treating rounds with the under-seven crowd and the house was empty, I set out a bowl of chocolate bars with a sign attached saying, “Please help yourself to one.”

Surprisingly enough, when we returned 45 minutes later, the candy that was to last all night had mysteriously disappeared. Must have been vampires.

So, through trial and error (mostly error), I’ve learned it’s far more prudent to have more than enough loot to hand out because, unlike meatloaf, Snickers bars make pretty good leftovers.

We get probably about 150 trick-or-treaters (actually, all treaters), so we need a good amount of supplies.

We have one of those house-to-house neighbourhoods, in a safe, circular route, with flat driveways and really nice people, which, of course, is why I bought my house.

No, I’m not telling you where that is because I won’t have enough candy and don’t think I won’t recognize you in that silly Brian Mulroney mask.

So, while I buy extras, we can’t get too carried away on pre-Halloween nibbles.

“Mom, please. Just one.”

Just one? As if. “No way. Once we start, there’s no going back.”

“Then, why do you buy chocolate bars you really like if you don’t want at least one for yourself?”

I was caving. No, no. Don’t do it. “Maybe, just one each?”

“Great, I’ll open the bag.”

Before we knew it, teeny chocolate bars were flying through the air in all directions as we gobbled them in glee.

“That’s it. That’s all we can have.” I had to put my foot down and wipe the chocolate from my fingers.

“OK OK. I’ll put the bag back, mom—Hey, wait a minute. What’s this? The other bag has been opened. Moooooom?”

“Must have been mice.”

Shelley Nicholl owns Mad Squid media-pr, which provides media, public relations and writing services.

madsquid@shaw.ca

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