Kids have this sixth sense. They know the second someone opens a cupboard door. With the slightest rip of wrapper or crinkle in paper, an inner alarm rings. A child can hear chewing from a mile away. It’s as if the littlest set have a radar chip installed in their brain.
I’ll give that it’s a good sense to have. If there is candy or chocolate around, I’d want to know, too. Except when it’s my candy my children are zoning in on.
I may, possibly, hide a few candy bars. Way in the back of a cabinet where no one else can reach yet. I may, possibly, wait until my children are otherwise occupied to take advantage of these rare treats. Slowly and carefully opening it’s protective label with the quietest touch, all the while my ears perked for incoming footsteps. Maybe. Possibly.
My candy. Mine. I might have issues.
I may have possibly been hiding in the kitchen, enjoying an afternoon candy bar that I know I really didn’t need but wanted anyway, when I heard Abby, who had been occupied with watching Gnomeo and Juliet in the back room. She was racing up front to where I stood. With a piehole full of caramel and peanuts, I had no time to act. Instead, as she veered the corner, I threw the remainder back in the cabinet and simply halted chewing on the big bite that was already in my mouth. I filled her drink without saying a word to give me away and waited until she left again. Taking every precaution necessary, I thought I was in the clear. When her head peeks around the corner.
“I want candy, too!”
How in the world do they know?