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Lifetakes: Cornflakes

Bracha Stein

“I eat cornflakes that come in a box,” he explained, visibly trying to control his exasperation. “These came in a bag. So I can’t eat them”

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

shiur

It all started when my husband brought home a bag of cornflakes. Now, I should clarify — before you start thinking that my husband is a baby-hating, puppy-kicking, monster of a man who should be reported to CPS — that my husband didn’t quite understand what he was doing. I told him that we were out of cereal, and since the store was out of the Kellogg’s we usually bought, he brought home a bag of cornflakes. 

I grabbed the bag from my husband as soon as he walked through the door at 7:55 a.m. and hastily began doling out the cereal. 

“I can’t eat this,” said my son Zevi, looking at me quizzically, as if trying to understand how I could miss something so fundamentally obvious. 

“What? You eat cornflakes for breakfast. These are cornflakes. So you eat them. Now hurry, you need to leave in 15 minutes.” 

“I eat cornflakes that come in a box,” he explained, visibly trying to control his exasperation. “These came in a bag. So I can’t eat them.” 

“Of course you can eat them,” I said. “Don’t be silly. They’re cornflakes!” 

“No I can’t. They’re gross.” 

I popped one into my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. Just like the Kellogg’s Corn Flakes. “See? I just tasted them. They’re delicious! Now hurry, it’s almost 8:00.” 

“I don’t eat cornflakes from a bag.” 

“Well, now you do,” I told my son who can taste the color brown and doesn’t like spices, store-bought bread, or anything with onions in it. 

My oldest son ambled into the room. 

“Tatty bought cornflakes in a bag,” Zevi informed him. 

“Ewwww. Mommy, what can I have for breakfast?” Eli asked. 

Something in me snapped. “Cornflakes. We’re having cornflakes.” I banged the bag on the table for emphasis. 

My boys exchanged looks. “Mommy. These cornflakes are in a bag.” 

“Yuck,” said Aliza, who had just joined them at the table. “Mommy, can I have oatmeal for breakfast?” 

“No! You cannot have oatmeal, we’re hav—” 

“Cheerios?” asked Shua, who just stumbled in. 

“It’s 8:07,” my husband announced to no one in particular. “Who’s ready to go?” 

“I’m huuuuuungry,” moaned Aliza. 

“I need to eat breakfast before I go!” said Zevi. 

“Well, I gave you breakfast. And you have eight minutes until you have to go. Just taste it!” No one ate breakfast that day. Or the next. The bag of cornflakes mocked me each time I walked into the kitchen. (Excerpted from Family First, Issue 550)

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