In a burst of unrealistic optimism, I pour two bowls of Cinnamon Life, remembering how much I loved that cereal as a kid. Connor and Chloe's cereal experience is pretty limited, so I'm excited to introduce them to Life.
I arrange the two bowls at the kitchen table, and walk into the den. The kids are engrossed in some explosion of bright colors and learning on TV. "Kids-- breakfast is ready, c'mon." I return to the kitchen table and sit down to my own, slightly larger bowl of Cinnamon Life. Mmmm-- the crunch, the kick of cinnamon. After several bites, I realize that the kids are still staring, slack-jawed, at the TV. I walk back into the den. "Guys, come on-- I have a new cereal for you."
Nothing.
I grab the remote and "pause" the TV. In our house, this is the best way to avoid any sort of violent reaction to the end of TV time. It gives the kids the comfort of being able to return to whatever they were watching, a TV-land fermata which makes everything ok.
As I walk back to my place at the table, I notice that the kids are not following me.
They are still side-by-side on the couch, staring, slack-jawed, at a motionless image of Pinky Dinky Doo.
"KIDS! BREAKFAST. NOW."
They jerk out of their reveries and saunter listlessly into the kitchen, tripping over blankets and toy trucks in the floor. They assume their usual positions at the table and shoot glances at their bowls, then at me. The hazy morning sunlight streams in through the kitchen window, accenting their glassy stares and untamed morning hair styles.
"It's Cinnamon Life. You'll love it," I say.
I continue enjoying my cereal while reading the paper. After several minutes, I look up and notice that Connor is resting his head on his hand, staring at the untouched bowl. Chloe has given me the ultimate meal-rejection: she has her pacifier in her mouth, and is stroking the blanket cradled in her arms.
I extol the virtues of Cinnamon Life, making "mmmm" sounds as I eat it. I even try to prepare individual bites on their spoons, which are met with bobbing heads and whines. Defeated, I return to my own bowl and finish it.
The kid's cereal swells up to that soggy mess it becomes when you don't eat it fast enough.
I'll try to teach the kids about Life some other day.
School Stories: Missing Class
6 years ago
3 comments:
lol
i just learned a new word--fermata.
bet they can't resist cinnamon toast crunch!
I'm with Connor and Chloe. I never liked the cereal myself, regardless of what Mikee thought about it. With a cereal named LIFE, I had such high expectations--and found it so disappointing in a monotonous way. It didn't surprise me to learn that Mikee later exploded himself with a bottle of coke and pop rocks.
I just found you, jumping over from Secret Agent Mom :) I am just loving reading this because all the names are the saem :) okay, so not in the right relationships, but you know what I mean.
My hubby is Chip, my son is Connor. My mom is Grammy, his mom is Mimi. My girl has actually cried so hard she threw up when I abruptly turned off the tv, gotta love tivo!
Anyways ... just wanted to say howdy, you have another lurker :) Though I guess it is not really lurking if you leave comments, huh?
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