I’m definitely not a health food junkie. One of our house rules is: any candy received must be shared with mom.

However, I do have the occasional qualm about cavities, weight gain and diabetes, so at Halloween I threw half of my daughter’s candy away, right off the bat.

That still left truckloads to cram into a large plastic container.

She ate a few lollipops and I had more than my share, and then the candy stayed there growing stickier and staler.

I practised the fine art of maternal deflection.

Her: “Can I have a candy?”

Me: “It’s breakfast time. You have hours before you qualify for a lollipop.”

Later: “Can I have a candy?”

Me: “No, it’s time for your pre-dinner glass of water.”

Later still: “Can I have a candy?”

Me: “You’ll ruin your supper.”

“MOM! You just want them all for yourself!”

Me: “I’m wounded by that accusation.” Her: “You have a candy in your mouth right now! I can smell it. You’re eating a Jolly Rancher, probably a blue one. Your lips are a funny colour!”

Eventually, I chucked the whole thing away, after weeding out the stray Jolly Ranchers, of course.

“No more candy,” I shouted. “We’re going on a diet.”

It came out a bit mumbled as there was a candy in my mouth when I said it.

Almost as soon as the candy container was washed and dried, it was full again with Christmas chocolates.

Every year, my sister in Switzerland sends us boxes of chocolate that includes chocolate cats’ tongues, dark chocolate bars with various bits of fruit and cookies, and chocolate eggs with prizes inside.

It would be just plain wrong to throw this stuff away, so we eat it.

After we’d gained about 50lbs, it was Valentine’s Day — when you are required by law (well almost) to swap heart-shaped boxes of low-quality chocolates to show your love for each other.

The bathroom scale was getting wheezy.

Now my daughter wants to know if the Easter bunny will find us when we go away shortly.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “When it comes to candy, you can run but you can’t hide.”