Each night after dinner we've been letting Kate select one piece of candy from her giant pumpkin head filled with Halloween loot. She knows she must first eat at least a noticeable portion of her dinner before she can have said candy. She gets so excited at the prospect of choosing a piece of candy that she sometimes insists that she's eaten her dinner before I've even cooked it.
Last night we were all in the kitchen while I cooked the adult meal and the girls finished up their dinners. Kate was merrily working her way through the small pieces of the fireball I'd smashed to bits with the mortar and pestle. She'd wanted to eat it whole, of course, but the memory of the green sourball rocketing out of my throat and across the red carpeting in the hallway in our house in Indiana after my mom performed the Heimlich Maneuver on me is still surprisingly fresh. I must have been about Kate's age. My poor kids will probably be full-grown adults and I'll be menacingly wielding some smashing tool near any throat-sized bit of food they're attempting to eat.
Where was I? Oh, right, Kate. So we're all just sitting around and there's a bit of silence. Out of nowhere Kate buoyantly asks "who has Halloween candy at their house?" and then her arm shoots up in the air and she yells "I do! I do!" and collapses in peals of laughter. Then just goes right back to her previous, calm self.
That kid is funny.