I am finding that I have developed a love/hate relationship with the Peanut-Free symbol.
My youngest daughter is allergic to peanuts, therefore our diets have been modified to accomodate this life or death situation. Albeit, I find myself drooling at Reese commercials and breathing deeply down the peanut butter aisle, we feel that if she can’t have it, we shouldn’t either. Except the snickers bars whose wrappers magically appear in my truck on my lonely trips to Edmonton, or at adults only parties where peanut butter marshmallow squares sit waiting for my consumption…
At first I was devastated: I will have to throw out most of what’s in my pantry – not! What a relief! Then I was thrilled – finally, an excuse to stop eating junk food! It all has traces of peanuts in it…right? Not! After scouring aisles for three times the normal amount of time, suffering eyestrain from inexcusably small print and feeling like I was deciphering some strange alien language, I realised, with mixed emotions, that most of what junk food we ate was peanut free! And so, I would diligently read labels, hoping I didn’t miss any superfine printm wishing there were n easier way.
Enter the Peanut-Free symbol.
A few brands of cookies started using the symbol on the front of their boxes, answering the prayers of squinty-eyed mothers and dathers whose lives had been bitten by peanut allergies. Needless to say I jumped on it and began stashing the boxes like an air-raid shelter in my pantry, I can eat cookies!!
Then my daughters discovered the symbol.
Until then, whenever my kids would ask for something I didn’t want them to have and didn’t want to argue about, I would say, “It might contain peanuts.” End of story. My older daughter could read but bought into my mother-knows-best scheme and didn’t care to call me on it. Until they figured out what THAT symbol meant. Now, EVERY junk food item that bears the mark of safety initiates an argument over acquisition. If it is peanut free, it MUST be fine for us to eat, therefore we should be able to buy it.
Hence my love/hate. It’s like spelling. Before my oldest could spell, I would spell out things to my husband when I did’
Thirty-Something and Stir Crazy 