Posts Tagged ‘The Candy Shoppe’

Little kids are super-freaky paranoid about soda*

The Wee Lass won't touch Mom's pop.

*As well they should be.

But we’ll get to that in uno momento.

On our kitchen counter, in a Tupperware container sans lid, we have this really scary stash of “treats” the Wee Lass has collected in her travels. I just did a quick inventory, and here’s what’s in there:

1. AirHeads Xtremes, which she nabbed at the evil concession stand at the town pool.

2. Edible Legos, procured at a bday party she attended at this adorable Hoboken candy shop. Er, shoppe.

3. M&Ms and Hershey’s Kisses, housed in pastel eggs, obvi left over from Easter. Gross.

4. A massive pile of her new retro obsession: old-school Bazooka. (Grrr…she keeps asking us to read her the stupid comics that come with, which are in like microscopic, negative-5 point font.)

5. Rock candy – also retro, and sooo pretty. But she doesn’t really seem into it, probably because it isn’t fluorescent.

6. And a bunch of other cavity-producing crapola, including Nerds and Skittles.

Clearly, she consumes her fair share of chemicals. Not all day long, mind you, but she usually dips into her loot for a little somethin somethin once a day. Hubby has passed down a family tradition of a before-bed snack of her choice, and – shocker – she isn’t often hankering after a pear or a piece of string cheese.

Still, under no circumstances will a sip of soda pass her lips. We could be stranded in the middle of the Sahara, and if I whipped out a Coke, she wouldn’t partake.

And she’s hardly the only pint-sized people-person who shuns the stuff. Whenever I eavesdrop on her and her gang in a refreshment setting (i.e., one of these endless birthday bashes – even ones held at candy shops, er shoppes), it’s always, “I don’t drink soda because it’s really bad for you.”

Don’t get me wrong; this is a good thing. A really good thing. I grew up in 1960s Oklahoma, and you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a big ol case of “pop.” And I use to curse my own (Connecticut-born and raised) mama for making us drink milk 95 percent of the time, while my cousins could crack open a bottle of grape soda any damn time they pleased. Deprivation much?

Over the weekend, post-earthquake and pre-hurricane, I was frantically stockpiling all the feel-good stuff I thought would help us weather the storm in a “fun” way. And along with the only bottled H20 I could get my mitts on (electrolyte-laced AriZona Vapor Water, which I’d never heard of, and is probably pure marketing bullshit), I slipped a pack of Diet Dr. Pepper in my cart.

The DP made me feel happy for about five seconds because it’s so gosh darn tasty, but it’s now giving me a case of the guilts. Why? Because soda actually really is bad for you. Especially the diet kind, which ratchets up the carcinogens a few notches. Between the aluminum cans and the chemicals, I’m asking for trouble.

That’s why I have a bottle of the bullshit electrolyte water on my desk right now as I type this. The earthquake and the hurricane are behind us, and I (hopefully) gotta a lotta healthy living to do.