Yes, I gave her an 11 year old sucker, but how was I supposed to know that sugar can go bad?

Today my 11-year-old daughter had a concert at the courthouse, and then we ate lunch together. After lunch she had to go to The Nuthouse, which is a shop that sells ice cream, candy and, you guessed it, nuts. She was dying to buy an all day sucker, because all of the kids bought them last year and she just loved the idea of a sucker bigger than her head. When we got to The Nuthouse, it appeared that every kid who was in chorus was waiting in line for their turn to buy a giant sucker. This line wrapped around the corner, that's  how important a trip to The Nuthouse was.

So she finally got her humongous sucker and ran out of the store waving it at me. She belonged. She fit in. She pretended it was a magic wand, a light saber and a sword.

Which accounts for why it looked like this when she unwrapped it tonight:

Well, it didn't look exactly like this when she unwrapped it. It was slightly less broken, and there weren't big pink globs of  leftover melts from the candy jewelry making kit she got two Christmases ago that I used in a pathetic attempt at gluing the sucker pieces together. I only succeeded in making it worse, and she was devastated. Especially since I'd also made her buy an all-day sucker for her younger brother. So while she was fighting back tears, her brother was doing this:

Her brother, not rubbing it in at all.

As her brother, completely undeserving in her book, pranced around the house eating his big-ass sucker and getting it all over his face in the process, I did some quick thinking and what I remembered was this. When my daughter turned one, my husband's cousin had given her an all-day sucker. Being an anal retentive control freak of a first time parent, I promptly hid the giant sucker in a kitchen drawer, and then forgot about it.

Until tonight, that is. I frantically dug in the kitchen drawer beneath layers of old potholders and scattered toothpicks and some old batteries and.....found it. *cue angelic music*

As my mother was in the dining room with the kids, surveying the wrecked lollipop and saying things like, "Aww! It's so cute!" and "Wow! It's like a puzzle, only made out of candy!" I proudly walked out of the kitchen holding an 11-year-old giant sucker that was in the shape of a flower (with only one piece broken off) which said "Make A Wish!". Taking a step back, my mother gave me that look. The look that one mother gives to another when she's saved the day, and I nodded back to her, graciously acknowledging her admiration.

My daughter's eyes grew round with anticipation, and she looked at me in awe. And seriously, I deserved it. I mean, how many mothers happen to have an all-day sucker on hand, for just such emergencies as these?

She unwrapped it and sniffed it.

"It smells funny."

"That's just the wrapper."

She dislodged the broken piece from the wrapper and looked at it closely.

"What's this?"

"What? I don't see anything."

"Look at the inside, it's all yellow. Shouldn't it be white?"

"It's probably banana flavored."

"But why are there holes in the, um, middle?"

By now, I was beginning to have some serious concerns about feeding my child 11-year-old candy. Would it make her sick? Sick enough to have to take her to the emergency room and then have to try to ignore the looks of disbelief as I attempted to explain to the nurses and doctors that yes, I purposely fed my daughter an 11-year-old all-day sucker but she was super sad and bummed out because the one she got was broken. And did I forget to mention the fact that her dad died last month??? I mean, what would you do?

At the last minute, I decided that the e.r. doctor probably wouldn't feed his daughter old candy and he also probably wouldn't take my diagnosis of adhd or my children's grief into consideration before he hotlined me to DCFS.

I held up a hand.

"Stop. Don't eat it, just throw it away."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Good. I have trained you well, grasshopper.


"'s kind of old, actually. Best not to eat it, in case..."

"How old?"

"Ummm......I don't really remember, exactly...."


"Well, let's see. Cousin Helene gave that to you when you turned one, so I guess that would make it..."


Here, I sighed. The sigh you give your child when she is totally in the right but no way will you let her know that. Because keeping that a secret is what keeps you in charge. That, and having the last word.

"Technically, it's closer to 11-years-old, since your 12th birthday is next mo...."

"WHATEVER!!!! Ew! Gross!"

At this point, she ran to the kitchen sink and started scrubbing her tongue with her toothbrush.

"Don't forget to throw it away!" I called after her.

So I had the last word.

Don't judge me.


  1. I am amazed that something lasted in your drawer for 11 years. Should we call Hoarders for you? I'm just saying.

  2. My daughter hates hoarders, it scares her. I love it because it makes me feel better about myself. My house may be insanely messy and most of the rooms are only half painted because I got distracted when someone commented on my facebook status, but at least there are no flatt, dead cats under a matress, or poop in the bathtub.