School Lunch

In my determination to write more (and subsequently stay sane) I have joined author Ann Dee Ellis in a memoir writing group. 3 days a week she gives prompts and then for 8 minutes we write. Please feel free to join in! Here's my eight minute attempt today:
Christopher and I have this deal for the mornings: I make the breakfast, he makes the kid's school lunches. I guess you could say that's the MO of our marriage--trades and negotiations. For instance, last night I wanted a back rub so I traded one-for-one. I got a ten minute back rub and gave Christopher a ten minute back rub. You might think this paragraph gets saucy at this point, but instead I'll disappoint you by saying it was not a fair deal. In a marriage where one partner consistently does things far better than the other, I have found sadly, that my few winning strengths includes a good back rub.

I give a better back rub.

This does not benefit me much.

At first when we struck this breakfast/school lunch deal I was a bit disappointed in myself for not campaigning harder for the school lunch duty. I can cook, in fact, I am not a bad cook, but hot griddles and gooey messes are not always kind. For instance, I have never made an egg I was proud of. But I have found a bit of creative pursuit in my morning breakfast adventure. Yesterday I made cheese and herb biscuits with a side of scrambled eggs (like yellow lumps of coddled dairy, but still edible) and it was a big hit with the second grader.

Are these essays the reasons why people keep unsubscribing to my blog?

(Just 4 people have unsubscribed since I started writing again, but I'm sensitive that way.)

In the afternoons when the kids come home I always make a first responder's effort to dig into their backpacks for traces of their day. An art project, a wadded flier about a pumpkin maze, a trinket or rock usually, homework, books and their lunch box. I spill the contents of their lunch box out on the kitchen counter every day and examine the evidence. Sandwiches are sometimes intact, untouched. Grapes are missing one or two off their vines. The treats bags are always vacant except that one time CK proudly admitted his homemade brownie. And then I feel a wave of frustration. Why aren't these kids eating their lunches? What kind of trade deals are going down on the floor of the school's kitchen cafeteria? Are my children, (oh please say no) asking other kids if they can have their lunch stuffs?

We let them dictate what they want in their lunches. We ask for details. So the uneaten portions of their meals are perhaps more of a mental mystery than a one of sensitive palate.

After I comb through the evidence I report my findings to CK. And then I don't worry about it after that because I have breakfast to make the next morning.

I was never really great at solving mysteries. Or making eggs.

But you should feel the way my can thumbs penetrate the base of the neck in circular motions.


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