My kids have a sixth sense when it comes to candy being thrown out in our house.

 
There is no other logical explanation.

 
It’s superhuman.

 
Something in the atmosphere changes when I try to throw away a piece of candy without their texted, sober consent and it’s challenging everything we know about science.

 
I’ve been able to get away with throwing out crafts and pieces of “art” (heavy on the quotes) with little investigation. Sometimes I’ll get the odd, “Hey Mom, did you put away my macaroni headless horseman piece for safe keeping?” Oh the one with the bits of glitter glue that still hadn’t dried six months after bringing it home? The one with frayed, brown yarn meant to be a tail but looked like it was part of a larger “Pin the tail on the donkey” party game gone bad? Yep, safe and sound (somewhere in the recycling yard).

 
But candy is a different nougat altogether.

 
I could have all twelve thousand pieces of the kid’s Halloween candy stacked neatly in several, giant Rubbermaid bins and if I removed one Skittle from one mini package from anywhere in any of the bins, one of the kids would almost instantly say, “Hey, is there an orange flavoured Skittle missing from our candy bins?”

 
It’s uncandy really.

 
So the girls each received a chocolate Easter bunny on Easter morning, wrapped individually in foil. The foil had a design meant to look like an actual pet bunny on the front which was cute until someone bit the head off of one of the longest living pets to reside in our home.

 
The bunnies sat on the edge of our counter for about a week at which time they were moved to the freezer. Then mid-freezer covered with containers of muffins, frozen peas and who am I kidding, about 1900 over-ripe bananas scheduled for baking sometime this millennium.

 
Then they moved to the back of the freezer, they were crushed into millions of tiny, chocolate pieces and I decided they had been long forgotten by all three kids so I threw them away.

 
Moments after a tasteful funeral and burying them in the large, garbage bin in the garage, the girls arrived home from school.

 
There had been no mention of the bunnies for weeks.

 
The five year old walked in the door and asked, “Hi Mommy, do you know where that cute, chocolate bunny from Easter is? I don’t want to eat it, I just want to look at him.”

 
Hmmm, I’m not sure. Do you want to help me look for the macaroni art?