I was faced with a child’s disappointment this morning. Sam woke me up at the usual time – too early. We spent 45 minutes building train tracks while everyone else was still asleep. When the babies started to stir, I asked him what he wanted for breakfast.
He hopped up from the floor, skipped into the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of milk that weighed almost as much as he does, and said, “I would like Cheerios for breakfast. I love Cheerios, Daddy.”
Of course, I gave the twins the last of our Cheerios yesterday.
Luckily, there was a box of Special K on the counter. Sam grabbed the box, brought it over to his chair, and opened it up, only to find an empty, crumpled piece of plastic wrap.
Did you ever have your heart set on the last piece of your favorite kind of pie, but your stupid older brother ate it after you went to bed, and you don’t find out till the next morning? Yeah, that’s the feeling that was written all over his face.
I told Sam that we could go to the store to get some more Cheerios, and that maybe he could get a treat for breakfast also. I scooped him up, threw him into shoes and a coat, and sped off down the road to the convenience store in search of cereal.
Wilson Farms is not a culinary Mecca, but they have a nice selection of breakfast foods. I put Sam down in the cereal aisle, and he grabbed a box of . . . wait for it . . . Froot Loops. Cheerios, but in color!
Anyone who knows my wife knows that she considers sugary cereals to be a byproduct of the devil’s minions. But all I could think about was the look on Sam’s face. So Daddy caved in. Oh, and I picked up a box of Frosted Flakes too.
Now, at this moment I decided that there would be no treat. “Sam,” I said, “you have a special cereal. That is going to be your treat. Ok?
He was a few steps ahead of me.
“Daddy. Cereal is cereal. This is a treat.” And he turns the corner, opens the door, and grabs a Krispy Kreme.