Lynda Loveland: The Candyman

At our house, we call him Caiden. He’s my five-year-old son. Out of my three kids, he is the one who considers candy an essential food group.

I routinely find candy wrappers under the sofa, behind chairs and under his bed. You’d think I deprive this child of sweets, but I don’t. He gets dessert every night because he almost always eats all his dinner, veggies included! He’s just got a sweet tooth like no other.

The first Halloween that he was really aware of and “got," he dumped all his candy in the middle of the floor the second he got home. He figuratively and literally dived in. He didn’t come up for air for at least seven minutes. And he didn’t come down for another 70 minutes.

Last year, we started trick-or-treating at the front of our neighborhood. The kids were walking and I was pulling our little red wagon. After just five houses, Campbell and Carys were mapping out the other streets while Caiden hopped in the wagon. He whipped off his mask and stuck his face in his bag o’goodies.

I said "Caiden, are you done?" I heard what sounded like a garbled, candied, yes. He couldn’t hold off any longer. He got just enough candy to eat while his sisters trick-or-treated.

And I pulled him through the neighborhood, like a King, on a throne of wrappers … smiling all the way home.