I dug through my daughter’s sticker box and unearthed a yellow Fruitloop. I haven’t purchased Fruitloops since 1999. I rummaged through two-year-old school supplies and found a Cinnamon Toast Crunch square the no longer manufactured 100% sugar version.
I opened the drawer in our coffee table to retrieve the remote control (one of seven) and found my missing hair clippies, nail polish smeared cotton balls, nail clippings, a paper napkin, two broken crayons, a Christmas card from 1988, pencil stub, unpopped popcorn kernels, my stitch ripper, used dental floss, an empty dental floss container and 27 cents. No remote control and amazingly, no cereal.
I’m convinced there’s an underground cereal network millions of wheat puffs, rice crisps, fake fruit bites and marshmallow minis led by their sinister leader, Captain Crunchless. Their sole purpose is to drive mothers everywhere crazy as if we need their help. They hold meetings in their high tech underground headquarters: Sugar Bomb Central.
“All right troops, Mrs. Rinehart has been having it a bit too easy lately her socks have been matching warm out of the dryer, the dogs haven’t barfed in five days, and she went an entire week without any of the children needing a poster board at 10 p.m. Crispy?”
“Present, sir!”
“You’re on Barefoot Detail. Make sure you wedge yourself between her toes and the kitchen floor immediately after she’s swept and then an hour after she’s mopped. Station one of your men in the toe of her running shoe for good measure.”
“Sir, consider it done, Sir!”
“Fruity! Activate Super Scent Sensors the very first morning she gets morning sickness. Station your platoon under her minivan mats, in the cupholders and air vents. I want her completely surrounded. Am I clear?”
“As crystallized sugar, Sir!”
“Major Marshmallow? I want you sticking to her dry-clean only pants, temporary crown, under her fresh manicure, on the bathroom mirrors, and under the couch cushions. Get her dogs in on it for strategic location deposits.”
“All over it, Sir!”
Sure enough, I opened the other coffee table drawer and found the remote control. It was snuggled up with its spouse and 5 children; among three incomplete decks of cards. Pastel bits of fluff stuck to the Channel Up and Record keys. The missing cards ended up adhered to the underside of the neighbor’s cat.
The next day I opened the drawer and found EIGHT fluff encrusted remote controls. I know they’re all related, because they look practically identical. Our family made it through the “Birds and Bees” talks… but now what do I tell them about the Secret Lives of Remote Controllers?
I’m having a hard enough time with the Cereal Conspiracy.
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at BusStopMommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.) Contact Karen at Karen@KarenRinehart.net. She’ll be happy to share some cereal with you.