300 Otter Pops Later

As I put the last 26 Otter Pops into the refrigerator yesterday, I suddenly realized that this was the last of the 300 Otter Pops we have eaten this summer. It was the best 10$ we ever spent, for sheer childish enjoyment. However, I began to ask myself some piercing questions: What kind of mom and I to allow my children to consume 300 Pops? They boast on the box "25% fruit juice", which still really doesn't make them much more than corn syrup water with artificial flavor and color. Am I really so ready to sacrifice health for cheapness and ease of cleanup? (Otter Pops come in a box at room temperature in long plastic packets.) They are cheap, easy to store, and they don't drip. They actually solve all the popcicle problems. I ask these questions, but really, when it comes right down to it, all I end up seeing is a memory from my childhood.

When I was about five, my parents took me to Central Park in Whittier. As I played, I glimpsed a little child my age, and in his hand was something I had never seen before: A Long Blue Popcicle Encased in Plastic. He looked like he was enjoying it immensely. I asked my mom what that thing was, and she told me that it was some sort of popcicle. I don't remember the rest of the conversation, but the unchangable fact is that I never actually tasted one of those things during the rest of my childhood. This blog could be a tribute to my mother's good nutritional taste, but for me, I always wanted one of those bad Otter Pops. So, you can imagine my delight when I discovered a box of room temperature Otter Pops in the grocery store a few years ago. I was finally able to figure out what they actually were, and I was able to buy them.

Now, Otter Pops are the frozen forbidden fruit that my children take for granted, and I feel slightly naughty and indulgent when I give them to them, or when I eat one myself.