cereal box religion
Today, while at my friendly neighborhood grocery store, I had a bit of an epiphany. I was standing in the cereal aisle (as I often am, though, between the cereal and the cookies I very seldom buy anything there), and the thought occurred to me: I wonder what kind of toys they put in cereal boxes these days.
The thought kind of took root, and I decided, just for fun, I'd pick out the cereal (regardless which brand) that had the coolest neatest toy inside, and I'd buy the cereal, just for that. I didn't care if I even ate the cereal — it didn't matter. People pay a lot more than $2.99 for a lot less fun than I was having with this.
The thought of the plan gave me shivers of delight. Buying cereal just for the toy? That's right up there with eating your dessert first or not washing behind your ears.
Oddly enough, hardly any of the cereals contained toys at all. Even the ones I could always count on as a kid — Cap'n Crunch and Lucky Charms — just had offers for a CD ROM game (wow, times have changed, I guess).
Finally, I found it, though — on the front of the Rice Krispies box was a picture of a little plastic submarine (this year inspired by the Atlantis movie), and it immediately struck a chord of recognition with me. I suddenly remembered, three years old, sitting on the kitchen counter as my mom helped me put the baking powder into the little cereal box submarine, and we watched it slowly make its way around the kitchen sink, rising up to the surface of the water every 30 seconds or so, and with a little glurp of a bubble, diving back to the bottom.
They still make these things! I was so excited I couldn't stand it, and I couldn't wait to get home.
After putting away the things that had to go in the fridge, I looked at my little cereal box, picked it up, pulled open the cardboard, and started getting flashbacks of carefully snaking my hand down past the cereal as a kid, trying to fish the prize out. Then it occurred to me: who ever said you have to open the top first? With a quick flip, I turned the bag upside down, put it back in the box, opened what used to be the bottom, and pulled the little prize bag right off the top of the cereal. I couldn't believe it could have always been this easy. Man, there were a lot of kids in the world that would beg to know this secret.
It's taken conscious effort for me, lately, to find what makes me happy. Weighing the different things I think I want, or that I think I want to do, and being so disappointed when the pleasure just doesn't quite equal the cost.
This afternoon, sitting on the kitchen counter with a big bowl of Rice Krispies and milk, watching my little submarine slowly make its way around the sink, I was happy.
The thought kind of took root, and I decided, just for fun, I'd pick out the cereal (regardless which brand) that had the coolest neatest toy inside, and I'd buy the cereal, just for that. I didn't care if I even ate the cereal — it didn't matter. People pay a lot more than $2.99 for a lot less fun than I was having with this.
The thought of the plan gave me shivers of delight. Buying cereal just for the toy? That's right up there with eating your dessert first or not washing behind your ears.
Oddly enough, hardly any of the cereals contained toys at all. Even the ones I could always count on as a kid — Cap'n Crunch and Lucky Charms — just had offers for a CD ROM game (wow, times have changed, I guess).
Finally, I found it, though — on the front of the Rice Krispies box was a picture of a little plastic submarine (this year inspired by the Atlantis movie), and it immediately struck a chord of recognition with me. I suddenly remembered, three years old, sitting on the kitchen counter as my mom helped me put the baking powder into the little cereal box submarine, and we watched it slowly make its way around the kitchen sink, rising up to the surface of the water every 30 seconds or so, and with a little glurp of a bubble, diving back to the bottom.
They still make these things! I was so excited I couldn't stand it, and I couldn't wait to get home.
After putting away the things that had to go in the fridge, I looked at my little cereal box, picked it up, pulled open the cardboard, and started getting flashbacks of carefully snaking my hand down past the cereal as a kid, trying to fish the prize out. Then it occurred to me: who ever said you have to open the top first? With a quick flip, I turned the bag upside down, put it back in the box, opened what used to be the bottom, and pulled the little prize bag right off the top of the cereal. I couldn't believe it could have always been this easy. Man, there were a lot of kids in the world that would beg to know this secret.
It's taken conscious effort for me, lately, to find what makes me happy. Weighing the different things I think I want, or that I think I want to do, and being so disappointed when the pleasure just doesn't quite equal the cost.
This afternoon, sitting on the kitchen counter with a big bowl of Rice Krispies and milk, watching my little submarine slowly make its way around the sink, I was happy.