October 22nd, 2008

Living with Cheerios

I knew that having children would also mean having cheerios. Finding them under foot, in the creases of the car seat, stuck to the wall, etc.

When Becca and I moved into our present apartment — previously lived in by a couple and their one-year-old — we cleaned from top to bottom what was already a pretty tidy place, and yet, for six months I was still occasionally sweeping up rogue cheerios hiding out behind the radiator or under the stove. So I knew what was coming.

And I accept my fate, entering the cheerio era with some equanimity, even while anticipating that familiar crunch under my shoes for the next, oh, FIVE YEARS or so — and even though, frankly, I don’t like cheerios. (At least I won’t have to deal with honey-nut® cheerios, though; those things weird me out.) Plus, who can begrudge a cute kid her cheerios?

— or her sweet potatoes for that matter.

7 Comments

  • 1. Roger  |  October 22nd, 2008 at 11:47 pm

    with you.

  • 2. Caro  |  October 23rd, 2008 at 11:59 am

    The cheerio-baby phenom is amazing. When my sister and I went to get my niece Milena in China — where the cheerio rule does not exist — we brought some with us. The first time she ate one — she was a little over a year old at the time — her eyebrows went up and she said, “ooooh,” as if saying, “why have I never seen these in my life and why were people keeping them from me?”

    Like Nico, Milena also has that Eddie Bauer highchair. It is the best!

  • 3. Raquel Z  |  October 24th, 2008 at 11:15 am

    ¡Que vival los cheerios! (Buen provecho, Nico and Miena.)

  • 4. jsb  |  October 24th, 2008 at 3:37 pm

    looking forwrd to watching “baby” grow in that tag cloud.

  • 5. wayneandwax  |  October 24th, 2008 at 3:42 pm

    no doubt

  • 6. Nina  |  October 27th, 2008 at 2:37 pm

    cheerios are da bomb

  • 7. John  |  October 31st, 2008 at 7:58 am

    Cheerios are among the pleasantest of things that might be hidden for later attention or discarded in a nook or cranny. Bits of banana or bitten biter biscuit are a bit less pleasant after a week or two. It only gets worse from there.

Wayne&Wax

I'm a techno-musicologist, internet annotator, imagined community organizer.

I left my <3 in the digital global, but I reside in Cambridge, MA, where I'm from.

I represent like that.

wayne at wayneandwax dot com

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