Kids at at Easter. Chocolate-crazy, ammi right?
They’re just shoving all those eggs and bunnies into their faces by the sticky little handful. The sugar-high is off the charts and they run around like drunk puppies until they crash into a pile of mahogany-smudged overtiredness, drooling and dreaming of fresh, crisp apples.
Well… no. Not so much.
Judging by the Easter hunt I witnessed last weekend (yes, we went early, we’re busy people, people), kids are so thoroughly indoctrinated into the “sometimes food” rules that they would no more shove a load of choccy in their face than they would skol their mum’s beer.
Listen to what happened, on the This Glorious Mess podcast.
We hid hundreds of eggs around our local park last Sunday. We hid them up, we hid them down, we hid them all around… Most of them melted, to be honest, on an a surprisingly sunny autumn morning, but that didn’t deter the kids’ enthusiasm. Their enthusiasm for finding the eggs, that is.
When all the eggs were discovered, no stone left unturned, little kid after little kid filed up to their parents, poorly-made (by my children) basket in hand. And asked the same question: “Am I allowed to eat one?”
Now, look. I know it’s a good thing that kids are being educated about over-consumption, about being cautious around food-allergies, about sugar being the abject devil, about the obesity crisis. I know it’s great that this gaggle of four and five and seven-year-olds all know that their parents, not them, are the arbiters of what’s good for them.
But seriously, parents. It’s Easter. It’s the season to be chocolate. To be actually mostly composed of chocolate, for 48 hours minimum.
It’s not a forever thing.