I rewarded myself for finishing my essay by opening my autumn-themed candy dish at my desk. I carefully lifted the lid to reveal the assortment of See’s hard candy inside. I took the hard candy out and carefully, very carefully, placed the lid back on the candy dish. It made a slight clinking sound.
Both my children materialized from the other side of the house at the minute sound of the lid returning to the candy dish. I’m going to have to share my candy. Like Pavlov’s dogs my kids salivate at the sound of the lid clinking against the dish and come running to my desk and say “Can I have some candy?”
It’s not that I mind sharing. I have enough candy for all but it’s my candy, special stuff that I buy specifically for my candy dish. Their extra candy is kept in the glass family candy dish near the DVD player and is filled with DumDums, Jolly Ranchers, and Now and Laters. My children are not candy snobs and like any type of candy that happens to be in the dish. They turn into Pavlov’s dogs at the sound of the family candy dish’s lid being opened and closed too. I despair of enjoying a piece of any kind of candy without having the pack of Pavlov’s dogs racing toward the clink of the candy dish lid being returned to its base.
My mom kept extra candy in a family candy dish only when she had extra candies left from the holidays. Extra candy from the Christmas stockings and Easter baskets found its way into the candy dish. After I ate all my own candy I would get into the family candy dish, carefully open the lid, select the candy, and then carefully close the lid afterwards, just in case I wasn’t allowed to have any candy. That dish always made a slight clang no matter how carefully I tried to return the lid. My sister remedied the problem when she “accidentally” broke the lid in half when she dropped it on the floor while dusting it. It made getting into the candy dish easier because there was no lid to quietly open and return and leftover candy from Christmas and Easter didn’t last long after that.
We had our own “accident” here in our household. My son plugged in the cord for the DVD player with the candy dish nearby. The cord tangled around the dish and pulled the dish right onto the floor where the lid smashed into a million pieces. My son looked at me and I looked at him. It was an accident, I told him, it’s okay. You’re okay? You’re not cut by the glass? I cleaned up the glass and put the lidless candy dish back to its place, far away from the tangled cords. If it was a planned “accident” it was well planned. Now our family candy dish doesn’t have a lid on it which will make getting into it much easier.
Short of breaking the lid on my favorite candy dish, which I don’t want to do, I haven’t found a way to cure Pavlov’s dogs from that sound. Then I got a marvelous idea from my Aunt on a recent family gathering. She said she kept her special candy in the freezer hidden inside an empty frozen vegetable bag. Genius. Her kids, my cousins, never knew it was there because all they saw were frozen peas.
I had an empty coffee can and put my candy inside. My candy-filled coffee can was placed in the freezer next to the can of decaf coffee, they’ll never know what’s really inside, I happily told myself. When I wanted one of my special candies, I opened the freezer and took one from the camouflaged candy can. I unwrapped the candy, popped it into my mouth, and enjoyed having a special piece of my candy alone. My solitude ended after a few moments when my son rushed into the kitchen, he must have heard the sound of my unwrapping the candy.
“What are you eating Mom? Can I have some too?”
My camouflaged candy can worked, but my children are conditioned to the sound of candy wrappers too. I have to wait until they are in bed or out of the house to enjoy a piece of candy alone. That’s too much to ask of myself because when I want a candy, I want one now, so I get one, and usually share some with my kids.