With A Name Like ...

The other day around noon I was laying on my bed nursing the Phebis to sleep. The Boogie tiptoed in and whispered, "Honey, I'n hungry."
"Okay," I whispered back, "I'll make your lunch in a couple of minutes. What would you like?"
"A san'wich."
"What kind of sandwich?"
"Ummm, peanut butter!"
"Okay, as soon as Phebis goes to sleep I will make you a peanut butter sandwich."
"No," she whispered, "I wanna make it."
"Okay, sure," I replied. I thought she was going to pretend to make it. She disappeared. Soon I heard some suspicious noises from the kitchen: a cabinet closing, a drawer opening, silverware rattling. No one else was home. As soon as I could I ran downstairs and she had pushed a stool over to the counter, gotten a loaf of bread out of an upper cabinet (I think she would have had to climb up on the counter to reach it but I didn't ask because I didn't want to give her any ideas just in case she hadn't) and pulled a fork out of a drawer. Thankfully that was as far as she had gotten! I had her find the peanut butter and I got some strawberry jam out of the fridge. As I spread the jam on the bread she said, "It has to be good."
"Oh, it will be good!" I said cheerfully.
"No, it has to be good!" She said again.
"It will," I assured her. "It's going to be very good."
"No," she insisted, "it HAS to be good! That's what he says!"
What? I was confused. Then I looked at the jam jar. Smucker's. Of course.

I am constantly amazed at all the products she recognizes due to seeing commercials for them ...