Cereal Generation
My name is Beth and I am married to a cerealaholic. David has been addicted to cereal for at least ten years. I suppose I should have paid more attention to the signs that were so evident early in our relationship; the late night bowls of cereal, the mysteriously empty cereal boxes. When we started our marriage it all seemed so innocent. He requested that I keep his favorite cereal in the house; Frosted Mini-Wheats, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Trix, Raisin Nut Bran, et al. It seemed normal. Than I began to notice the little things. He would have cereal for breakfast sure, but then there was the afternoon snack, the bowl after dinner and then more than one bowl at a time. Suddenly I couldn’t seem to keep cereal in the house. As soon as I bought it, it was gone. I’d take the boxes out of the cupboard and they would be empty. After years of watching his addiction begin to consume his diet – I knew action needed to be taken. I stopped buying cereal. I didn’t even talk to David about my decision, I just stopped. Of course he was angry at first, but soon he realized I was resolved. There would be no cereal in our house ever again.
When did cereal become such a staple in our diet? My parents aren’t big cereal eaters. David’s parents aren’t big cereal eaters. And yet, almost every person in my generation knows somebody who suffers from this addiction. Cereal has become the universal meal; Cheerio’s for breakfast, Trix for lunch, and Wheatie’s for dinner. Our lives are landmarked by breakfast cereal. Even now, every baby has a tub with Cheerios and as we progress into adulthood we shed the cereals of our youth and embrace our “adult” brands; Fiber One, Raisin Bran, Grape Nuts. And yet, it is all cereal. Our generation is the cereal generation. We love it, we need it, it is as essential to our diet as water, milk or bread. Heck, we have dedicated an entire aisle in the grocery store to breakfast cereal. What is the fascination and desire for this most simple of foods? What is YOUR cereal addiction?
The Circle of Life
Dear Max:
I was 18 weeks pregnant with you when the phone rang at 5:00 AM. I knew instantly who was on the phone and why they were calling. Your great grandfather, Earl Callaway, had died in the middle of the night. We all knew it was going to happen soon and yet it didn’t make hearing the news any easier. I hazily walked through my morning, wiped away my tears and went to work.
Max discovers the fruit bowl
Around 2:00 in the afternoon I felt sharp, shooting pains rip through my lower abdomen. I knew it wasn’t labor pains, but I also knew something didn’t feel right. I went to the emergency room. The attending doctor rushed me into ultra-sound. As the technician began taking pictures I whispered, “I know you aren’t supposed to do this, but if you could tell me what the sex of my baby is I would be so grateful”. She was a petite, surly little thing and she curtly said “I’m not an OB-tech, only your doctor can tell you.” I sat quietly for a moment and than pleaded again “Pleease, I know we’re far enough along and my doctor’s appointment isn’t for another two weeks”. She was silent. I laid there still as she snapped photos of my kidneys, colon, lungs, etc. She silently finished and stood up. As she wiped away the cold ultra-sound jelly from my stomach she said; “I’m not an Ob-tech but it looks like a boy to me”, she turned and walked out of the room.
When the doctor returned he explained that I was carrying you very low and towards my back. As a result, you had done some rearranging of my organs including moving my kidneys under my lungs and squishing my colon. My colon, in an act of defiance began to spasm. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. It wasn’t dangerous and I was to go home and rest.
Max loves his Nana
I’ve never forgotten that day. To have so much grief be met with so much joy. The miracle of knowing that Grandpa Callaway left this world in order to make room for you. He would have adored you. He would have loved your little Callaway laugh, and how you can be stubborn as a mule. The fact that at 3 years old you have an opinion and are not afraid to share it. That you have an enthusiasm for all things that is hard to match. He would have melted at how you wear your heart on your sleeve and that your hair is never brushed, your face never clean and your clothes rarely match. Grandpa Callaway knew that day, of all days, it was his time to go because it was your time to arrive.
I love you sweet boy. Happy Birthday.
Seven Odd Things About Me
Being “tagged” in the blog world is a little bit like receiving a chain letter. However, they seem a bit less tacky. I don’t remember who tagged me – and if you are the person who tagged me, then please let me know and I’ll put your link here. These are seven strange things about me.
1.) I’m incapable of rhyming. I realize that as a person with an official college degree in creative writing rhymes should just roll off my tongue, alas, they do not. As a matter of fact when put on the spot to make a rhyme the best I can do is a “slant rhyme” and in the world of rap those don’t really count. It’s really sad. I’ll never be signed to Def Jam records.
2.) I don’t drink coffee. I wish I could say it is because of some sort of macro-biotic diet or cleansing process but it isn’t. I don’t like it. Even the mocha caramel frappuccionos at Starbucks I don’t like. No matter how much the coffee is diluted with whipped cream and chocolate I still can taste the bitterness. I don’t like to clean coffee mugs, I don’t like to clean coffee grinds, even the smell of coffee in the morning is distasteful to me. I’m a weirdo – I know.
3.) I’ve never had long hair. The longest I’ve ever had my hair is shoulder-length and that even includes when I was a little girl. I get inspired to grow my hair out but by the time it reaches my shoulders I’m so annoyed by it I cut it all off again.
4.) I fell in love with David in less than 20 minutes. People don’t believe me when I tell this story, but David and I met at work and after a brief conversation I walked back to my desk, called my best friend and told her I met the man I was going to marry. Seriously, it happened that fast.
5.) I have naturally long fingernails. One of my more admired qualities is my ability to grow long, strong fingernails without doing a single thing to deserve them. I use my nails to scrape food off plates, open envelopes, break open taped boxes, etc I don’t moisturize them, pamper them or do anything to encourage length and/or strength. It is genetic – when formal occasions call all I have to do is even them up, slap on a coat of polish and it looks like I was just at the salon. Be jealous – I’m cool with it.
6.) I can’t spend money on myself. I don’t think twice about dropping a hundred dollars on groceries, or clothes for the kids or even a present for David. However, I will wear jeans that have holes in them before I decide that I might need new clothes. I won’t even consider spending $60 on a pair of sunglasses or shoes or a purse or even two pairs of jeans. If I do finally spend more than $50 on anything for myself I feel tremendous guilt and a need to confess to David (who could care less and doesn’t understand my hang up).
7.) I have a great sense of direction. I’m rather proud of this little idiosyncrasy of mine. I’m one of the few females I know that knows where North is at any given point. I’ve never been worried about getting in the car and driving some place new because I can almost always find my way back to someplace familiar. Although David might hesitate to admit this, I know he secretly relies on this quality when we’re house-hunting or noodling around town.
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I’m being featured as a guest-blogger today on Scribbit. A little travel article I wrote about fun things to do in Dallas. Check it out. If you aren’t already reading Michelle and the shenanigans she’s up to in Alaska than I encourage you to make her a regular read.
