"The Easter Creme Witch"

Yesterday, I hit a new low point in mothering. Egg, my 4 year old looked over at me with tear-stained cheeks and heartbreakingly whispered,

"Mama, I've just broken my heart..."

I should have just slit my throat then and there, especially as I was partially responsible for his misery.
You see, I have this little problem which occurs once a year, for a month or so, right before Easter. I get re-addicted to Easter Creme Eggs. Yes, I know they are bad for you, I know the soft gooey creme inside is composed of so many additives and E-numbers that it would cause a nutritionist to break out in hives (and my dentist to come after me with a scalpel), but I just can't help it. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I once read an article about Madonna which claimed that her one guilty pleasure (and being 50 with a figure like that she surely can't have more than the one) was Easter Creme Eggs. I may never quite fill a leotard like the reigning High Priestess of Pop, but darn it all we share a weakness for this scrumptious seasonal confectionary.

Anyway, I have been meaning to go on a detox for...well, for several months now to be fair...but things always get in the way. So I was determined to start TODAY and thus, having tantalisingly unpeeled my absolute LAST Easter Creme Egg last night, and savoring it's delightful naked chocolate form before taking the first bite, just as I was about to go for it, Egg and Dumps came barreling into the kitchen demanding dinner. I quickly shoved it behind a hibiscus plant and turned around with my best 'Bree-from-Desperate-Housewives' smile.

"Hello my darlings, what would you like for din-dins?" I enquired.

Moments later I heard some garbled groaning and glanced down to see Egg with chocolate spittle escaping the sides of his mouth mumblng "I'm eating your Easter Creme Egg Mama".

I don't know what came over me. I was livid. My first instinct was to salvage the egg, and so i took his little mouth and tried to prise open his lips in a vain gesture of retrieving at least some of it. No such luck. His jaw was clamped shut and I watched, horrified, as he gulped down the last of it with a triumphant grin and spat out, "I did it! Haha!"

Well that must have triggered something, for I marched him over to his little kitchen chair, sat him down and proceeded to lecture him on how angry I was that my son was a thief. I think I got rather carried away with my rant, and in truth perhaps it was an outlet for all the other current angst in my life at present, and so I didn't realise when he started to shed crocodile tears. It wasn't until he alerted me to the fragile state of his dear little heart that I realised that I had perhaps overstepped the line with my sensitive little firstborn.

Even worse, I had the humiliating epiphany that all of this was over his "Mama's" OUT OF CONTROL Easter Creme Egg addiction (sigh). It was the wake up call I needed.

I now realise that I most certainly have some sort of unhealthy dependence on Easter Creme Eggs. They make me happy and content in a way that no other person or thing can at present. I'm not even sure what I can do to get myself off them. There is no way that a crispy piece of celery or healthy handful of nuts is going to be any sort of antidote for my daily treat. (Even the sight of my thighs shackled into a too-tight denim mini recently was not enough to put me off.)

In fact I confess this problem may be rather deep-rooted as my family loves to remind me of the Easter when my three little sisters and I had a big easter egg hunt. Clutching little baskets overflowing with chocolate I opened one of my easter creme eggs, gathered my siblings all around, and bit into it, making a face as I did so, and telling them how disgusting the 'real raw egg' centre was. They fell for it - totally - and like a martyr I held out my basket and sighed as they deposited all of their easter creme eggs into my already heaving basket, thanking me gratefully and profusely for volunteering to take all of their 'disgusting eggs' for them. I remember nodding valiantly and making out that it was going to be horrible for me, but that i'd do it for them only because I was such a good big sister.

My parents of course eventually cottoned on to my evil ways the next Easter (perhaps a little sister spotted me hiding behind a sofa, nibbling an egg with an ecstatic look upon my face and had a eureka moment...) and my scam was up, but clearly Easter Creme Eggs figure largely in this sugar-addled brain of mine. If I ever go for therapy perhaps someone can help me get to the bottom of this, but for now I'm going to have to work on my 'Easter Creme Rage' myself and make sure that I get this under control before I am dragged before the courts by Social Services, pleading 'Easter Creme Insanity' and making headlines for disgracing my family and myself.

Or perhaps I just need to get a life? Hmmmmm....