In Defense of Cereal

My husband is a foodie. Actually, that terms sounds a little too glib for his level of commitment. He's a farmer's-market-shopping, wine-list-critiquing, slow food, art-of-eating reading, full-on gourmand. And, to my taste buds' relief, he's the one who cooks around here.


He's also the one who feels entitled to make the food rules around here. And one of those rules is that cereal is not, can never be, and will never be, dinner.


He's wrong.


Of course, I do recognize that my vantage point may be a little bit suspect. I did come from a household where frozen vegetables were a daily staple no matter what the season. I didn't know lettuce came in any flavor besides 'iceberg' until after college. Suffice it to say, consumer packaged goods companies have quite a customer in my mother.


But I do think cereal can, on occasion, be a perfectly reasonable dinner choice. Make that, a vital, life-saving option.


After all, as a friend of mine said, it's fortified. They are actively trying to ensure you get the nutrients you need, even if it cereal is the only thing you eat. (And by 'they,' I mean those good folks at Kellogg's and General Mills).


Sometimes, when I get home from work, after I've raced in the door to get my 45 mins before bedtime, (note: one bone of contention from hubby is that I never stop to get the mail. He's right. I don't.) after I've put the boys to sleep, if there's nothing cooking, and reheating is too much bother, and ordering is too much of a wait ... then it's all about cereal.


Of course, I'm drowning in hypocrisy. Would I let my children have cheerios for dinner? Hell no. I won't even let the au pair.


But I will, in fact, keep doing it, hypocrisy and all. Every once in a while, no matter how much the hubby scoffs, I'll pour myself a bowl of honey nut. And I'll enjoy it.




You know what I can't figure out? Is this a classic sign of not taking care of myself, or a sign of that fact that maybe I am?


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TODAY's TALLY (single-momming it edition):
- 5:45 a.m. wake up
- 1 busted lamp
- the au pair's bus (she missed it to help me settle a screaming, refusing to nap boy)
- ever-growing arm muscles after carrying one velcro-boy twin 20 blocks in the rain. (take that Madonna)
- rain
- poop in the bathtub (floaters!)


Been a tough one tooday.