The Larger Hooligan is a Candy Spendthrift. He brings his Halloween candy bag with him everywhere and proffers it right and left. This seems sweet and open-handed, but he has a secret agenda: the person who accepts his generosity is unlikely to say, "Now you've had enough, buster!" He helps himself to a piece, too, in solidarity, you understand. Every time I see him, he looks like a squirrel, his cheek bulging with a jawbreaker. When he sees me he offers his bucket with a muffled, "Take a piece, Mom!" Works like a charm.
My other child is a Candy Accountant. He sorted his haul by type. Then he counted up the total. Then he broke open the packages of gummies and jellybeans and got an even more exact total (363 pieces). He ate one carmel, crossed out 363, and wrote 362. Then he looked at me balefully. "I'm going to count it every day," he announced. And marched upstairs to hide the bag under his pillow.