P.T. Barnum Was Right

I love spring for a myriad of reasons. The sun shines warmly, but the days aren’t hot. The Lady Banks roses across my garden walls burst forth with hundreds of blooms and a light breeze wafts the delicate scent through the open window. The fruit trees leaf out and promise a summer harvest. But one of the best things about spring is Easter candy. (Yes, I am aware of the deeply serious religious ramifications of this holiday, but those don’t diminish the fun of all the little goodies available at the grocery store.)

The pale pink, blue, and green cellophane wrappers, the iridescent foils on chocolates, the sugared eggs with cut outs and royal icing – I love them all. However, my all-time favorite Easter candy is the marshmallow shaped bunnies and chicks. (Mind you, not the Peeps, but the ones that are the texture of pale orange Circus Peanuts.) I know this is a rather perverse choice given the wide variety of goodies available this time of year. I almost feel guilty that I’m not in love with something more exotic like Cadbury eggs or Dove dark chocolates (which the guys adore).

I think it’s the nostalgia feature. I’m particularly fond of candies I liked as a child including jelly beans (not even the gourmet kind, though the Starburst brand are fruity and flavorful), mallow rabbits (or pumpkins at Halloween), fruit slices in assorted flavors (the thin, almost translucent ones that are a little hard to come by these days), and spice drops (though we haven’t had those in the house since my son choked on one – to the extent that we had to call 911 – when he was little). All these chewy, sweet treats remind me of brightly colored dresses (which my mom made) and ribbon-bedecked Easter baskets.

My brother and I raced around the yard and through the house vying for the fullest basket; though in reality my parents made sure they were equal. After a holiday feast we picked through the goodies looking for our favorites for dessert, and then took the baskets to our respective rooms where I sorted my candy into small piles to be doled out over the course of the coming week while my brother ate all of his. Well, not really. He actually hid the contents so that on Monday when I was enjoying my allotment he could produce an empty basket and puppy eyes in an effort to convince me to share, which I did – every day for the rest of the week. After my candy was gone, he would eat his stash as well without giving me so much as a single bite. Being the gullible little sister, I bought his poor me act every year.

These days I have to contend with those sad eyes from my son, who also loves marshmallow Easter shapes. Last night Jeff brought home a bag of sugary goodies as a surprise. He promptly divided the contents between two plastic containers and handed one to each of us. My son wasted no time eating his entire share, while I ate a few before capping the container and putting it away to enjoy over the course of several days. I’m willing to bet that when I open my container this evening, there will be a shaggy-haired, 6’ 2”, 15-year-old puppy begging for some candy, and being the sucker I am, I’ll probably hand over the goods. Will I ever learn?

Update: When the time came the container was perceptibly lighter than I recall from last night. My son swears it fell off the shelf, popped open, and several pieces fell out on the floor. Of course, he didn’t want to run the risk of returning cat-hair infested candy to my stash, so he ate them. Hmm…