I remember when my mother had just put the Easter cakes out to cool, and I would sneak up. I would look at that cheerful colored sugar cap and think: "Well, just a little..." And I would eat from the top while no one saw, and then hide behind a chair.
My mother would sometimes scold me, but she would smile - because she also remembered doing the same thing as a child. For me, Easter cakes are not only a taste, but also an atmosphere. That smell of vanilla, the warmth from the oven, conversations in the kitchen, laughter. And even when I was sad - Easter cakes always cheered me up.
Now I don't eat sprinkles secretly anymore (well, almost). But every time I sprinkle them - I remember that girl in a bathrobe, with her fingers in sugar. Easter cakes are not just bread, it's a small piece of my soul.
And I know for sure that one day my children will steal the sprinkles too, and I'll just smile.