I’m a grown woman. With children of my own.
Isn’t it funny how our childhood messes with the way we raise our own children. Even in little ways.
Case in point…
I don’t like oatmeal, or malt-o-meal. It’s a throwback to childhood. And, as an adult hasn’t ever been something I think about.
But, my son made himself a bowl of coco-wheats.
You know the kind.
Like chocolate malt-o-meal. It really is delicious. I just don’t make it.
At the store he says…
“Mom, why don’t you make Coco-Wheats? You know we like them.”
I have to tell him that it’s because of lame reasons and he can get a box and make them…himself.
Fast forward to the next morning…
He follows the directions on the box and makes himself a bowl of Coco-Wheats. But ignores the part about stirring. Doesn’t stir, just dumps everything in and leaves.
“Ewwww….it’s lumpy, and gross.” Piles of uncooked wheats lump together in the bowl. It’s not nice. At all.
THERE IT IS…
the memory.
My 10 year old son gets to experience in a small way my mornings as a child where we had some version of the dump and don’t stir malt-o-meal.
And now I know exactly what it was my mom did wrong.
She didn’t stir. At all. Ever. Never. Not. One. Single. Day.
Oh the horrors. And the joy of my child getting a similar experience.