Humor Break
The 7 Stages of Lunch Box Grief Make Peace with a Necessary Evil By Holly Hester
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hock No, no it can’t be. I just put you away. I remember it clearly. It was the last day of school, and I cleaned you out and shoved you in a drawer. What are you doing on the counter? Summer’s not over. If summer were over I’d have a perfect tan and rock hard abs from all the paddle-boarding classes I’d been taking. And since I’m still chalk white, muffin-topping over my sweatpants, and I haven’t even called the paddle-boarding place yet, summer can’t be over. So put yourself back in the drawer next to the other things I keep hidden like that ugly tablecloth my mother-in-law sent and my emergency PMS candy stash.
Anger Hey, lunch box! Why don’t you fill yourself! Just sprout arms out of your plastic sides and stuff yourself with a well-balanced meal! I’d like to see how many days in a row you can make a peanut butter and banana sandwich before going insane!
Denial I don’t have to make lunches. Someone else can do it. Maybe my husband. No, last time he made lunches, he sent our son off to kindergarten with a wine cooler and a package of beer nuts. I’ll have to find someone more qualified to make lunches, like an escaped convict or a helper monkey. I’ll just walk into the kitchen every morning, the lunch boxes will be packed and my convict/ monkey will be waiting for me with a cup of coffee. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner.
really big lunch on Monday and let my kids figure out how to make the food last ‘til Friday? Okay, here’s my last offer. What if I do community service in exchange for not having to pack a lunch? You hand me the orange vest and the garbage tongs, and I’ll hand you the Antman lunch box. Deal?
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I hate you, school lunch. There, I said it. Bargaining What if I pack a lunch three days a week and then I just don’t send my children to school for the rest of the week? Or what if I make a
I should want to pack a lunch. I mean, really. What kind of mother am I?
Guilt I should want to pack a lunch. I mean, really. What kind of mother am I? I bet other moms are out there right now arranging vegetables in a smiley face on a bagel and
writing little notes that say, “Dear Timmy, My heart aches while we’re apart. Please enjoy this homemade Bundt cake I stuffed into your lunch box as well as a Haiku I wrote about the 50 states to help you on your test today. Love, Mom P.S. I made all the blood sausages myself.” Depression I’m never going to be that kind of mom, so I’m just going to give up, dig out my PMS candy, and sit on the kitchen floor eating Charleston Chews until I puke. I wish my convict/ monkey was here to rub my back. Acceptance Okay, school has started again. I get that now. I’ve accepted that I’m going to have to pack a lunch, so I might as well just grab some slices of bread and get to work. And who knows? Maybe I’ll enjoy making lunches this year. Maybe I’ll really get into it. Maybe I’ll become known for my lunches. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll be known for my lunches, my rock hard abs, and my paddle boarding expertise. This year is going to be totally different. I can feel it already. ¶ Holly Hester lives in Sebastopol and writes about life on her blog, Riot Ranch. Find her book, Escape from Ugly Mom Island!, on Amazon.
September 2015 www.sonomafamilylife.com