Sweet nothings are really something

They say it’s the little things that matter. For those little humans known as children, sometimes very tiny things count more than you could ever imagine. Listening to my children reflect on meaningful moments from their childhood often makes me wonder why I even bothered worrying about the big stuff, given the impact of the seemingly throwaway gestures that end up eternally inscribed as formative events.

A small dose of unexpected pleasure can make a long-term impact, a lesson driven home on a recent family car ride as the girls reminisced about early memories involving literal sweetness, in the form of candy.

One recalled her preschool carpool with complete bliss. God works in mysterious ways, leading me to stop at the dollar store one day on my way to pick them up from school, and then to randomly add a box of Mike and Ike’s at the checkout. On the way home, I gave each kid three little pieces. You might have thought I was handing out gold bars for all the excitement that generated. Never had they scrambled into their car seats so quickly or settled down so well. The entire ride home was a soundtrack of joyful giggles, combined with detailed explanations of how each one decided to manage her treasure. One popped them all in the mouth at the same time, explaining the glorious feeling of jiggling them around and mixing the flavors. Another took teeny bites of each one, making them last as long as possible. They explained their strategies like they were presenting papers at a scientific conference, only they were much much cuter. And again, this seemingly tiny gesture became a favorite memory, especially when three Mike and Ikes became a regular treat each time I drove.

My kids’ memories kept flowing like Domino sugar. Several remembered their Saba’s favorite bribe to get them to ride a bike — jelly bellies. He distracted them from their fear of falling by having them repeat how many turns of the pedals — one jellybean, two jellybeans, three jellybeans, four jellybeans — and then reward them accordingly at the end of their practice session. I can still remember one child cheerfully counting off the turns, visualizing her rich reward, and another, more fearful, who repeated the mantra with the distinct echo of dread in her voice. No matter, today they all can ride, and they all have fond memories of their Saba’s strategy.

Treats also figured in the most effective of our many efforts to get them to practice piano. Their performances vastly improved when we put a few boxes of Gushers under the control of their teacher, to distribute if she perceived that they had improved over the week. For a few months, in between disastrous dental visits, my budding Beethovens actually made some progress.

A candy reward also remedied a period when my babies couldn’t be bothered to make the morning bus. Handing over a lollipop on their way out the door was a small price to solve a difficult problem. Unfortunately, we needed to find a new strategy after I rearranged their bedroom and discovered one kid’s hidden stash, stolen from my bulk order and eaten in bed after lights out. She even tried to frame her sister, claiming those wrappers were planted under her bed to shift the blame. It took years to rebuild my trust in that child.

Another tarnished recollection came from my 25-year-old college graduate, whose voice still cracks with pain as she describes a major disappointment of her childhood. She was not quite 4 when my third child was born. Because I had to report to the hospital very early, she slept over at a friend’s house, and her mom brought them to school that day. The highlight of the day apparently was not getting a new sister, but the bliss of finding a package of fruit snacks in her lunchbox. The joy! Decades later, she can recall what went through her preschool mind.

First came the excitement. Finally, mom has finally decided to pack me something good! Later, the devastation, when she discovered that in fact it was her friend’s mom who had packed her lunch that day. She can still muster a tear when she relives that disappointment. The happiness of a new baby sister did nothing to offset the pain. (Though I see the error of my ways, I still see no difference between a “fruit snack” and a gummy bear, other than clever marketing.)

Jewish tradition clearly recognizes the power of the well-placed sweet. From the old custom of putting a drop of honey on their first book as a child starts school, to the enduring tradition of the candyman (or woman) in shul, our heritage recognizes what we health-focused parents sometimes forget — a moment of sweetness can create a lifetime of happy memories.

Here’s hoping my kids remember this wisdom when they have children of their own, and select a dentist up to the task.

Laura (Lori) Fein of Teaneck is a litigator at Eckert Seamans LLC. She is the daughter of the greatest mom ever, who she hopes is reading this, and the mom to five daughters who probably never will. Her podcast Mommash: The Oy and Joy of Family is available on all platforms, and she can be reached at mommash.podcast@gmail.com.