Appreciating the finer things

When my niece was about three, her dad was gone one evening and my sister said to her "what do you want to do while Daddy is gone? Sit around and watch TV and eat chocolate?"

"YEAAAAHHH," said my niece, her eyes wide and her voice full of wonder, as if to say "I did not even know that was an option!! Wow!!!!"

My niece is 11 now, and about a year ago she said to me "when are you going to start BigSister on chocolate?" as if it was a food group, part of the progression. You know, first you start on vegetables, then fruits, then meats, then chocolate. And at some point, BigSister had chocolate.

I have a confession here. I'm not a chocolate addict. I have respect for chocolate; I like it. But if I'm looking at a dessert menu and there is a chocolate torte or a carrot cake, or lemon sorbet, or pumpkin pie, I might go for any of them.

In my family, though, I'm alone. My husband loves chocolate. My sister loves chocolate. Even my mother, the queen of Scandinavian self-deprivation, loves chocolate.

And I know my children are bitten with the bug now, because last night when my husband started rustling in the Halloween candy my kids came running faster than a cat that hears a can opener.

I guess they've started on chocolate.