There wasn’t a lot of money to spend on luxuries when I was a kid. I was the oldest of six children and my mother managed the house pretty frugally. It was during the days of stay-at-home moms, dads who went to work early in the morning and came back home late at night.
My father commuted to the city everyday, eventually working his way up the company ladder to management. It was better financially for all of us, but it lessened the need to be imaginative in ways to stretch the family dollar.
We never seemed to be without, never went hungry and we always had toys to play with. But my mother always seemed to know that we were getting bored or out of sorts. So she thought of different ways to have fun and to look at life from another angle.
One of the ways my mother used to surprise us was to serve breakfast for dinner.
It was simple enough – bacon and eggs (we never had one without the other), French toast and home fries, toast for dipping and pancakes with lots of syrup. It was as if we had died and gone to heaven. It’s amazing what simple acts will bring joy to children.
I carried that tradition to my own family, as money was tight and they were often without a two income source. Only I went one step further.
I detested sugary cereals and drinks, and would not allow them in our house when they were young. I was always concerned about their teeth. I wasn’t totally draconian, I did let them eat candy (I wasn’t insane, you know). But breakfast was where I drew the line. You never saw a coca puffs, captain crunch or lucky charms box in my kitchen. No fruit loops, frosted flakes or sugar pops.
Until it was time for a change.
Not only would there be the nights where we had breakfast for dinner, there was also cereal salad night.
I let them pick whatever three boxes they wanted and let them go at it. They gorged themselves on the various choices, enjoying themselves until the boxes were empty. Invariably, there was always some remnants at the bottom of the packages left, and that is what they remember most.
Cereal salad.
A childhood memory of their own making, they mixed the leftover cereal from all the boxes together, and indulged in their extravagant creations.
As they became teenagers, I loosened the grips of food choices available to them. After all, one learns they have to pick their battles when dealing with people who have hormones raging through their bodies.
The funny thing was, they didn’t seem to care much about it – they would rather eat the traditional breakfasts and fore go the available treats.
In fact, I don’t think I bought sweet cereal again until I was on my own, many, many years later. They’ve become a comfort food of sorts, and when I reach for them I am transported back to when they were little, wishing they could eat what they saw on t.v. instead of boring bacon & eggs, pancakes & homefries, and raisin toast for dipping.
When the wind is howling and the snow is blowing outside my window, I settle down with a bowl full of my own dirty little secret.
Chocolate Coca Puffs.
My father commuted to the city everyday, eventually working his way up the company ladder to management. It was better financially for all of us, but it lessened the need to be imaginative in ways to stretch the family dollar.
We never seemed to be without, never went hungry and we always had toys to play with. But my mother always seemed to know that we were getting bored or out of sorts. So she thought of different ways to have fun and to look at life from another angle.
One of the ways my mother used to surprise us was to serve breakfast for dinner.
It was simple enough – bacon and eggs (we never had one without the other), French toast and home fries, toast for dipping and pancakes with lots of syrup. It was as if we had died and gone to heaven. It’s amazing what simple acts will bring joy to children.
I carried that tradition to my own family, as money was tight and they were often without a two income source. Only I went one step further.
I detested sugary cereals and drinks, and would not allow them in our house when they were young. I was always concerned about their teeth. I wasn’t totally draconian, I did let them eat candy (I wasn’t insane, you know). But breakfast was where I drew the line. You never saw a coca puffs, captain crunch or lucky charms box in my kitchen. No fruit loops, frosted flakes or sugar pops.
Until it was time for a change.
Not only would there be the nights where we had breakfast for dinner, there was also cereal salad night.
I let them pick whatever three boxes they wanted and let them go at it. They gorged themselves on the various choices, enjoying themselves until the boxes were empty. Invariably, there was always some remnants at the bottom of the packages left, and that is what they remember most.
Cereal salad.
A childhood memory of their own making, they mixed the leftover cereal from all the boxes together, and indulged in their extravagant creations.
As they became teenagers, I loosened the grips of food choices available to them. After all, one learns they have to pick their battles when dealing with people who have hormones raging through their bodies.
The funny thing was, they didn’t seem to care much about it – they would rather eat the traditional breakfasts and fore go the available treats.
In fact, I don’t think I bought sweet cereal again until I was on my own, many, many years later. They’ve become a comfort food of sorts, and when I reach for them I am transported back to when they were little, wishing they could eat what they saw on t.v. instead of boring bacon & eggs, pancakes & homefries, and raisin toast for dipping.
When the wind is howling and the snow is blowing outside my window, I settle down with a bowl full of my own dirty little secret.
Chocolate Coca Puffs.
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