Susan Senator

Look out, look out the Candyman
Here he comes and he’s gone again
Pretty lady ain’t got no friends till the
Candyman comes around again…
–GFD

Eeah, Fudge
Hoo, Fudge
–Nat

I defy Brazelton, Leach, or Spock to come up with some wisdom about my life. When Nat was a baby, all those books left me cold. I could not recognize my little guy in their pages. I tore Penelope Leach in half and threw it across my kitchen.

Today I am limping along, bruise-free, with faint hope flickering foolishly in my heart. Last night I tried something a little new: I pre-warned Nat of how things would be in the morning: who would be awake, who asleep; who was having breakfast, who was not. I told him he would have to be calm tomorrow in spite of all those things.

This morning Nat was like the old Nat. Baruch Atah. Boshe Moi. He asked a question or two about Max, like when was he going back to school (after the last week of summer, after Cape Cod is over, in September, in the fall). And that was that.

He had a great day in school, as he has been anyway, and I gave him fudge when he got home. At around 5:30 I determined that Ned would be too late to eat with us, and that I was making pasta and meat sauce. I told Nat during his airing of Peter Pan, and I told him that if he was calm during dinner he would get fudge after dinner.

I had gone to Cape Cod for the weekend and one of my wishes had been to go to Provincetown. My parents obliged me, and we also figured I could take the ferry home to Boston at 3. So Mom and I shpotseered while Dad took the bike ride of his life at Race Point. I was determined to go to Cabot’s, where we always bought fudge when I was little, and where they now sell diabetic taffy in all flavors!!!!

I bought a ton of the bowel-challenging candy for me; I also bought a pound and a quarter of milk chocolate fudge for the boys, a hefty brick of that buttery sweet brown stuff — the warm sticky smell made me nearly swoon with delight — and I said to Mom, “I am going to bribe that kid of mine. If that works, I am going to be so pissed at him.” Mom laughed. I may have called him something less complimentary. Sorry, but this has been an awfully long stretch of difficult behavior. And that’s just me! (HAH)

Well, so far, it has worked. The pre-warn and the fudge. How much more obvious can things get? All it takes is a little fudge? A spoonful of sugar? Well, why do you think I call him Sweet Guy???

Now I just need to buy a lifetime supply of Cabot’s fudge. It could be worse. And now I get to hear happy Nat silly-talking with the word “fudge” sprinkled in liberally throughout his monologue.