I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
November 2, 2010
>Few things take a greater toll on a marriage than when one partner has a sweet tooth and the other does not.
I’ve had to learn this the hard way, of course.
More than one argument has erupted between my husband and me over the fact that every single road trip he plans contains major detours to what he insists is “the best bakery in western North Carolina” or “the best bakery in Op, Alabama,” or “the best bakery along this stretch of dirt road in Nowheresville, Podunk.” Yeah. The eclairs there were something else, let me tell you.
Lately, we’ve been having heated discussions over the sweets he brings home from work on a regular basis. I’m trying to slowly phase out junk food in our house- My goal is to have nothing unhealthy to snack on at home, and to save treats for when we go out for ice cream or dessert. Hubs claims to be on board, and to be fair, he does take a big interest in making sure the kids eat healthy foods…
But then he brings home cookies. Or brownies. Or thick slices of cake. Or candy.
“I interviewed a guy right next to a Mexican supermarket!” he blusters when confronted. Or “Sweet n’ Sassy Bakery was on the noon show at work and they brought a whole bunch of sticky buns up to the newsroom!” Or “I was just five minutes away from Sweet 16th, and you know they have the best rice crispie treats in town!”
Sweet tooth, y’all. Sweet. Tooth.
I didn’t realize quite how much my husband is controlled by his sweet tooth, though, until Halloween night.
It started out well enough- We suited up our three and six-year-old kids and headed to a family Halloween party at a friend’s house. The plan was to all trick-or-treat together afterward, and it seemed like a fabulous idea– Our friends’ neighborhood was practically a movie set of All Hallows’ Eve perfection (Picket fences! Welcoming porches! Carefully carved pumpkins and hand sewn-costumes and glasses of wine in the hands of every parent on the sidewalk!)
But after about 15 minutes of this storybook scenario, we began secretly longing for our homeland of endless subdivisions and lookalike houses. “I miss our neighborhood,” Punky said after escaping from yet another press of dozens of small, costume-clad bodies clamoring for candy from a man dressed as a mummy.
“I can’t keep track of the kids,” I told Hubs worriedly a few minutes later, uselessly shining my flashlight into a teeming throng of children at the house next door. “It’s too dark. There are too many other children.”
One look at my husband’s face, though, convinced me that he had it far worse than any of us.
“It’s been 15 minutes and we’ve only been to five houses,” he said hollowly, his face as haunted as a heroin addict’s. “I’m going to get the car.”
Once Hubs had retrieved the Buick and swung by to pick us up, we made it back to our own part of town in record time. Our tires squealed as we went up on two wheels turning into the area’s most massive subdivision. “Come on,” Hubs said excitedly. “We’ve only got about an hour left!”
Breathlessly, I unstrapped the kids and deposited them on the sidewalk while he jumped out and wrestled the stroller open like a man possessed. Before my son could even sit down in his seat, Hubs had taken off with it down the sidewalk, while Bruiser clung to his stroller with a mixture of fear and delight.
“Look at that cul-de-sac on the right!” Hubs called back to Punky and I as we tried our best to catch up with them. Every house is lit. It’s a CANDY BONANZA!”
Gamely, Punky and Bruiser followed my husband’s barked orders, running on short little legs to house after house and sweetly begging for candy. Periodically, we’d run into other families we knew on the sidewalk and I’d stop to chat for a moment while my kids played with their children. At one point, we encountered several of our neighbors, and Punky and Bruiser clearly wanted to stay for a while and play with their friends.
Unfortunately, that was impossible. Hubs stood at a distance beneath a street light, bellowing, “CANDY! COME ON! CANDY!!!!!!!”
As I watched him, it hit me that while some men are clearly led by their brains and others by their… well… you know…
My husband is ruled… RULED! by his sweet tooth.
And it’s useless to argue with him about it, because he can’t resist the siren lure of sugar any more than Jillian Michaels can resist doing crunches.
“Come on kids,” I said defeatedly as the other parents stared at the silhouette of my husband waving maniacally. “Daddy needs a sugar high and he needs it NOW.”
We ended up trick or treating for another hour before the kids began begging for mercy and we finally called it quits.
“We could have gotten so much more,” Hubs sighed as the kids emptied their trick or treat bags out on the table when we finally got home.
“But why?” I asked him. “I mean, how much candy do 3 and 6 year-olds need?”
Hubs didn’t answer. Instead, he quietly put one sock-covered toe on top of a Milky Way that had fallen to the floor.
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