Bowl of crap photo

I Have Candy Standards

I was cleaning out the random bowl of crap that is meant to only have our car keys in it when I found a lollipop, and not the crappy Dum Dums my hairdresser and doctor palm off on my kids. This baby was a fantastical gum-in-the-center genius pop.

Bowl of crap photo
Under that there bowl of crap lay TREASURE.

I look right. I look left. I shove the sucker into my pocket like a shiv and continued cleaning as if I wasn’t going to break out from the humdrum of my weekend and into candy heaven as soon as the coast is clear of candy-grubbing chitlins.

But those children are everywhere and I have shallow pockets. Whenever I lean over to keep up my mom-weekend-cleaning façade, I have to keep one hand in my right pocket so my lovely lollipop of luxury will not fall to the floor and be confiscated by the short and vicious candy policy. And because my left hand is about as coordinated as a three-legged cat with a sock over his face, the cleaning up slows to a snail’s pace and I see myself still launching plastic food into a plastic kitchen cabinet in five years.

I finally sneak into the non-plastic kitchen and drop my new-found crunchy deliciousness into My No-Kids-Allowed-Mama-Candy Basket like a ninja army ranger pirate felony on a secret mission to EAT CANDY ALONE.

Because the moment my children see the lollipop, they will FREAK OUT over who gets the single gum-filled love-on-a-stick. The ensuing wrestling-screaming match will result in blood and hair and more cleaning, and I will mistakenly say: You should share it. And they will agree with my profound mom wisdom and I WILL HAVE NO LOLLIPOP.

So I turn my back on the pop and roll into the living room gathering Legos under the couch while announcing I’M GATHERING LEGOS UNDER THE COUCH TO PUT AWAY. The only response is the lollipop calling, AALLLLEEXX, but my kids are all MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA and our bathrooms don’t have locks.

But around 3 p.m., my children are distracted by an explosion of glitter and Matchbox cars. I dash to the kitchen to go all licklicklickandbite like a big-eyed impatient Tootsie Roll Pop owl while racking my brain for the name of a disease I can call my red tongue when the delectable pop is finished but my children notice my cherry breath.

I pick up the goal of my entire weekend, but as I look closer at the wrapper, IT WAS ORANGE.

Orange Flavor Lollipop photo
It wasn't even a Blow-pop.

I throw it away. Even my kids have standards higher than an old orange flavor lollipop.

Alex Iwashyna

Alex Iwashyna went from a B.A. in philosophy to an M.D. to a SAHM, poet and writer by 30. She spends most of her writing time on LateEnough.com, a humor blog (except when it's serious) about her husband fighting zombies, awkward attempts at friendship, and dancing like everyone is watching. She also has a soft spot for culture, politics, and rude Southern people who offend her Yankee sensibilities. She parents 2 elementary-aged children, 1 foster baby, 3 cats, and 1 puppy, who are all Southern but not rude. Yet.

7 thoughts to “I Have Candy Standards”

  1. I’m stuck on the very first lines stating that your bowl for keys holds more crap than not. Thank you for validating my own bowl of crap that is also meant for just keys (and bummer about the orange lollipop. Bah.).

  2. I had to move from “bowl” of crap to “drawer” then “cabinet” and now finally “closets” full of crap.

    But I’d eat an orange, off-brand blow-pop in a minute.
    Apparently, I have no shame.

    Or room in my closets.

  3. gum in the center genius pops are the only ones i’ll eat! But I agree I wouldn’t even scrub my toilet bowl (not that I do) with an orange pop. NASTY orange crap!

  4. I too love the “bowl of crap!” Of course what jumps out at me is the rx pad that I am forever locating for my boss. ” Where did I leave my perscription pad????” is the lament that I hear 10 times a day. Love your blog!

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