The Wife says it's time for me to give up my sugar-coated, candy-colored kiddie breakfast cereals. She's probably right. But that doesn't mean it's going to be easy.
The Girl, our two-and-a-half year-old, has reached the age where she can tell the difference between the sugar-free, cardboard-ish stuff we feed her (Cheerios, Rice Krispies, etc.) and the good tasting stuff I like (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Lucky Charms, Cookie Crisp). I'll pour her a bowl of her stuff, then pour me a bowl of mine, and she'll say, "I want some of that!" (Up until about a month ago when she started to get a handle on proper pronoun usage, if she wanted something she would ask you if you wanted it. As an example, if she wanted a chicken nugget, she would say, "Do you want a chicken nugget?" It was very cute. But now she's in full demand mode: "I want some of that!")
I don't blame her. Have you tried Cheerios lately? They are miniature donut-shaped pieces of cardboard, and they make your urine smell like....well, Cheerios. We started appeasing her by giving her Cheerios with a few Apple Jacks or Froot Loops on top. She likes that, and now asks for "Cheerios and Apple Jacks" by name. But, she likes my stuff even more.
The Wife doesn't want the kids constantly eating the sugar-coated stuff. I get that. But does that mean I have to give it up? Some of them I can understand:
--Lucky Charms: When I'm eating those marshmallows I can literally feel my teeth rotting away. (The same goes for Count Chocula and all the other marshmallow cereals.)
--Cookie Crisp: I can see where eating dessert for breakfast can set a bad precedent.
--Corn Pops and Honey Smacks: Since these used to be called "Sugar Pops" and "Sugar Smacks," they're still a little too blatantly sugary to trust.
--Froot Loops: So little to do with actual fruit that they had to spell it "Froot."
--Cap'n Crunch: This guy always creeped me out a bit, anyway. I mean, his eyebrows are on the OUTSIDE of his hat!!!
--Cinnamon Toast Crunch: Okay, this is where I draw the line!
What could be wrong with Cinnamon Toast Crunch? I mean, cinnamon is natural, right? To quote Webster* cinnamon is: "the aromatic inner bark of any of several lauraceous trees." [*I'm referring to Webster the dictionary guy, not Webster the little black kid adopted by white parents from the 80's television program.] Did you catch that? Cinnamon is tree bark! How can that be bad for you? And then there's the "toast" part. What could be heartier and healthier for you than toast?
|Made with tree bark and "real toast!" What could be healthier?|
I think the makers of Cinnamon Toast Crunch need to take a lesson from the marketing people behind pudding. There are actual advertisements that tell you a food is good for you because it is made with "real pudding." Really? As opposed to fake pudding? And since when is pudding good for you? It's not. Pudding is sugary goop. But, the "Pudding People" gave us Bill Cosby and his sweaters and cute little kids, and suddenly everyone is thinking that "real pudding" is healthy. If the "Cinnamon Toast People" started pushing that their product was made with "real toast," it might not be lumped together with all the other sugary cereals.
So, I'm having to say goodbye to many of the cereals that I love. Luckily for me, Frosted Mini-Wheats aren't on The Wife's hit list because, apparently, the "Wheats" part is enough to compensate for the "Frosted" part.
Also, I've taken to supplementing the dull taste of the healthy cereals by sprinkling them with a spoonful or two of chocolate Nesquik in order to turn the milk more chocolaty. And The Wife has no way of knowing I do this, because she is usually gone to work when I pour my cereal. (Wait..., she does read this blog, doesn't she? Curses!)
As I was writing this, The Wife came home from work after stopping at the grocery store on the way home. Guess what she bought for me? That's right, a couple of boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch!!! That means either that a) my wife loves me and wants me to be happy; or 2) she's trying to kill me and the means she has chosen is a slow, sugary death. Either way, I'm not going to complain. I'll just smile and enjoy my tree bark.
After all, it's made with "real toast."