So far, I’ve been a good girl. Or a pretty good girl anyway. See, I have this thing for Reese’s peanut butter eggs. Homemade peanut butter eggs? Eh. I can take ‘em or leave ‘em.
Other commercial brands? They don’t even tempt me.
But the second I see the first TV commercial with all the animals trying out to be the Cadbury bunny, my mind screams, “Reese’s egg! Now!”
And they have to be eggs. I’ve tried the Reese’s peanut butter Christmas trees and Reese’s peanut butter pumpkins but they aren’t the same. Nope, gotta be that egg.
I’m not the only one likes them. My little terrier mix dog that died a few years ago did too, so I was careful to keep the candy and the dog away from each other. Once, though, I had a Reese’s egg in the car and forgot about it when I took the dog along on an errand.
When I returned to the car, the candy egg wrapper was opened and every bit of peanut butter had been consumed from the nearly perfect chocolate shell. I probably should have scolded the dog severely, but he looked so happy that I just couldn’t.
Putting temptation behind me became so much harder when the manufacturer began putting out six-pack packages of the peanut butter eggs. I weakened and bought that package, putting them in the freezer because I thought that might deter me from eating them all in one sitting.
That was when I discovered how delicious a frozen Reese’s egg can be and how dangerous it is for me to keep them in the house.
My dear departed Hubby, like my late mother, loved jelly beans. While my mother liked the spicy ones, Hubby liked the plain old ones that he got in his own Easter basket as a kid.
And he especially liked the black ones.
No one else in the family really does, so a tradition was formed from the time our kids were old enough to differentiate colors. They’d take all the black jelly beans the Easter bunny brought and pile them on the table beside their daddy’s chair.
The grandgirls learned from their mother and uncle. They liked to deliver them one at a time to Poppy who always politely thanked them and made his own pile on the table.
I happen to also like those marshmallows Peeps, the little colored-sugar covered chicks. The girls don’t care for them, so guess who gets the ones that come from their baskets?
A few years ago, before many people knew about it, I treated the girls to the experience of enlarging a Peep in the microwave. I put a pink chick on a paper plate, set the timer for fifteen seconds and watched the marshmallow fowl puff into a huge creature.
In a few months, I’ll become a great-grandmother — yes, I am that old — and I’m looking forward to being able to introduce a new generation to the Easter traditions of our family. You know, like posing in front of my dogwood tree before heading off to church, wearing cute little hats and gloves until they’re too old to rebel and, of course, destroying candy they don’t like with a common household appliance.
Ah, yes, good times are coming.
CATHIE SHAFFER is Executive Editor of The Greenup News. Reach her at email@example.com