Sometimes you are the only thing anyone wants to eat (me included) and I appreciate that.
When you go on sale, that is a good day.
When I unexpectedly run out, that is the worst day.
My mom asks why I just bought 1,000 fruit snacks.
She doesn’t understand you like I do.
I have to lock you up behind a childproof lock in the cupboard or else my kids would eat all 1,000 in approximately one second.
I treat you right.
I lovingly scrape you off of all surfaces of my car.
You’re the reason why I have approximately 32 possums around my house, hoping for a snack on car clean-out days (you, and Goldfish crackers but that’s probably material for another poem).
We all secretly have our own favorite flavor and shape of fruit snack.
(Green apple or purple dinosaur, am I right?)
We all secretly have a bit of brand preference and become fruit snack snobs.
“Excuse me but that’s not the kind of fruit snack she likes.”
But you’re worth all the fuss, except for the gross ones with filling inside. In the 90s, those were a thing called “Gushers.”
I rejoice a little inside when it’s hot and you congeal in the package to create one giant, mega fruit snack. It’s satisfying to watch a toddler eat a conglomerated 3-inch fruit snack ball.
I should have a funeral for all those individual snacks that were dropped or thrown on the floor, never to be consumed.
I should call John Walsh to find all of the long-lost fruit snacks in my house.
I feel like my house becomes a biology experiment after finding a previously lost fruit snack in a weird spot and experiencing the ants and bugs (wildlife, really) that come out to try and eat it.
Does this mean my kids will be genius scientists? Absolutely. Something positive has to come out of that experience.
When they get their Nobel Prizes, they’ll be like, “Thank you primarily to fruit snacks for inadvertently allowing me to cure cancer, after my fruit snacks developed healing properties upon being stuck under the couch for approximately 15 years.”
The fact that I wrote this at 1 a.m. tells you everything you need to know about the state of my life.
Thank you for the cute way my son says, “Foot Nack,” instead of fruit snack.
Also for the way the kids get mad if there’s only one fruit snack bag but then you become more beautiful when they share.
Sometimes (ok, a lot of the time) you’re my only hope.
Either I’m the best parent ever or the worst parent ever (I’ll just go with “best parent”) for feeding these to my kids.
You empower me to stop my kids from screaming in the car,
As well as inciting them to scream in the car.
And to throw fruit snacks at each other in the car.
I know I’m never alone because I always have a fruit snack stuck next to me on the seat, on my butt, or melted in the washing machine.
But tomorrow, I will do it all again because of my boo,
My real partner in life,
Literal bag of joy,
Fruit snacks.
