The Day I Forced My Child to Eat Candy

I’m not proud of what I did.

It was day two after Halloween, and I lost my shit. Up to this point, I had been relaxed about my children’s candy consumption: free rein-bingeing during and following trick-or-treating, a few select pieces in lunches the next day and after school, and a full dump the next night. This included my husband and I sifting through and pulling out key favorites (100 Grand and Almond Joys, naturally) that you only see once a year.

All good fun! Everything in moderation, including excess! No food shaming here!

But by the next morning, with a full day of soccer ahead, I asked for one thing.

“Can we just have a healthy morning, guys?” I said to my 9-year-old daughter and 12-year-old son. A whole grain? A fruit? They nodded dutifully, and when I left the house, they were eating Cheerios and sliced apples. Winning!

When I returned an hour later, they were in the back room, dancing to music. Spirits were high, and all was well. Until it wasn’t.

“Whose Skittles wrapper is this on the counter?” I asked, sponge in hand, gathering dishes. Silence. Then two tentative faces peered around the corner.

My reaction was not measured. I didn’t count to 10. I didn’t stop, breathe, and think. I didn’t walk out of the room and calm down. My retribution was swift, and some might say harsh. Trick-or-treat bags were grabbed and dumped into a trash bag, and my righteous diatribe ensued.

“Trusted you! 9 a.m. in the morning! Asked for one thing!” I ranted around the kitchen. “Was up early to make you oat bars for soccer! Couldn’t wait for lunch! Sneaking it in secret!” I might have thrown in something about diarrhea, diabetes, and of course, how disappointed I was.

Again, I’m not proud. But in fairness, parenting is really hard. And parenting in the age of video games, social media, BPA, parabens, everything made in China, the rising cost of college (Aunt Becky!), climate change, the Momo Challenge, Marie Kondo, and high fructose corn syrup is really, really hard.

It just feels like forces are working against parents, especially when it comes to the battle of sugar. Why does every sports game or afterschool club need to end with Capri Suns and Welch’s gummies? Why is the new recommendation to add chocolate syrup to milk just to get kids to drink it?

And why on earth is my son’s mouth ringed in cookie crumbs when we pick him up from Sunday school?

That time, I did remain calm. Until the following week when I was told by the teacher the kids had been “crazy” that morning. “Might it be the lollipops in their mouths?” I suggested. That ended my kids’ Bible study education.

I read the articles and take to heart the suggestions to instill healthy habits in our children. We have them pack their own lunches and talk often about a balance of foods. We discuss food groups when the units come home from school, post healthy snack lists for them to choose from on the refrigerator, and try to involve our kids in meal selection and grocery list making. We have even started having them plan and cook a dinner to get them active in the kitchen.

But despite our best efforts, systems inevitably break down and forced vegetable eating commences.

The morning of my meltdown, though, we were a team. We had agreed on a healthy morning, hadn’t we? And up to that point, I had been calm about their candy. So what went wrong?

As my anger cooled, new emotions settled in. Defeat. Sadness. Anxiety. I reflected on my own eating habits, my childhood around desserts, and how my husband and I were creating a dynamic, despite our intentions, where our kids felt the need to sneak candy.

So my solution over the dinner table that night? Offer up an entire day of all-you-can-eat candy tomorrow. No questions asked, no judgement, no guilt.

The catch? No other food allowed, and they had to share thoughts about the day at the end.

By the morning, I was struggling with my decision. In a long conversation with my husband, I admitted again to the guilt I felt for overreacting the morning before, confessed to feeling a good measure of misguided anger at every teacher and coach who pumped sugar into our kids, and overall felt sadness for how the weekend had ended in such a hard spot.

But down the stairs came the kids, all smiles with the idea of candy on the menu all day. Until it dawned on my son he had plans to do a ropes course with a friend and youth group that night, both outings involving a meal. Indecision started to set in, and ultimately, the lure of bacon for breakfast won out.

But not so for my daughter. She stuck to her decision and started with a Hershey’s Cookies ’n’ Creme bar for breakfast. By mid-morning, she estimated she had eaten approximately seven pieces. Wow, a moderate amount, I thought. She must be pacing herself.

In the flurry of getting dressed and brushing teeth, she told me she was feeling hungry, and I suggested she eat more candy.

“That won’t work. Candy doesn’t fill you up,” she wisely said, an observation she had surmised before and confirmed that day.

But she soldiered on. By midday, her strategy was to read in her room to keep distracted. And to eat more candy. Chewy SweeTARTS, Twizzlers (the fruit-flavored ones), Whoppers, and a lot of Gobstoppers.

“I can’t eat a lot of chocolate, but I can eat a lot of fruity stuff.” So self-aware!

By 2 p.m., things got real. She felt cramps in her stomach when playing catch with her dad, was jittery, and had hunger pangs and a pressure in her lower stomach.

“I would throw away all my candy to get a bagel,” she admitted while walking off the field. “And an apple sounds good, too.”

By the time they arrived home, she was ready to renegotiate the terms for the day. I had a plate of beans, rice and chicken in front of her stat, my relief palpable. I just wanted the whole thing behind us. But the writer in me couldn’t resist asking for the details. How did she feel when her brother backed out? How did her body feel? Was any part of the day fun?

She felt excited when she woke up, she said, but admitted her brother backing out was a blow. “I envisioned us eating candy all day together.” (Misery does love company.)

Would she do it again? A resounding no, but then a pause.

“At least not without real food, too. Not even for a half a day.”

“I could no longer taste the flavor anymore,” she said about a bag of Skittles she had left half-eaten in her room. “It just felt like, in my mouth, the thought made me sick. I couldn’t get them down anymore.”

So why did she decide the endless candy option?

“It’s something about the Halloween candy,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “It’s the one time of year you get the most.”

There it was. There is something special about Halloween. The weeks of costume crafting, the free run of the streets, the collective spirit of neighbors out on their porches, often also offering adult treats in Solo cups. Our community is especially festive, and I love a good wig and the opportunity to dress up around a theme. And of course, the candy!

In one fell swoop, I felt like I had stripped my kids of the unbridled joy of Halloween — a joy I still had memories of from my childhood: the Millers’ house awash in decorations and purple lights with haunted music pumping through speakers, the Lottos’ full-sized candy bars, and the Engleharts’ homemade popcorn balls.

Tears now filled my eyes. I had already apologized the night before about my overreaction earlier in the day, but I circled back around and apologized to my daughter again. And I told her I was so proud of her for sticking to her decision but then being brave enough to admit it was a bad one. No small feat for a strong-willed 9-year-old.

The next night at dinner, with clearer heads and full stomachs, we discussed how we might do better together. The kids wanted some control over their candy, and my husband and I wanted some agreed-upon parameters. In the end, we returned their candy with the plan to pick out a few pieces a day for lunches and after school.

It wasn’t perfect. There was still Halloween haggling — a push for two pieces versus one in the lunch box and bickering over the Reese’s Pieces — but we made it through the week.

And what remains of the candy is stashed in the freezer in hopes it’s forgotten, along with the day I forced my child to eat candy.

Just in time for Christmas cookies.