Real Problems
I was lamenting the fact that I had to have PB & J for lunch today. Some people would kill for a sandwich of that caliber. I know that. The kids go to school with children who wouldn't even have that as an option at home because there are no options at home. And here I was whining that I'd be stuck with PB & J.
You might wonder why I'm stuck with it. I certainly could go to the pantry and fix something else, right? Well, here's the story:
I started getting the lunches ready this morning (Yes, I need to force these children to help with their lunches, but at night, that is the last thing on my mind, so in the morning, in a rush, I usually ask them to put part, but not all, of the lunch together.) and realized it would, indeed, be another PB kind of day. I whistled as I slapped the PB on, and then scraped the last of the J out of the jar. I pushed the sandwiches into the boxes and figured that I'd make Tim a sandwich, too. (Tim is not so good about making his own lunch, or eating regularly, for that matter.) I went to find his container (he uses Melina's pink princess sandwich box) and realized it was still in his lunch bag. And that he still had a sandwich from yesterday inside the container.
Argh. I groaned. Loudly, I might add. Because a not-eaten PB & J in the box meant that he didn't need a new one, and that I would need to eat the new one, because I don't like throwing food away.
I can appreciate PB and J, I really can. But I need to be in the mood for one. And I could tell that today, I just wouldn't be. Call it a hunch, call me Velma. But no PB & J was in the plans for me today.
When I mentioned it to Tim this morning, he said, "So I'll eat two of them today." What? Really? "One for a snack and the other for lunch." Somehow, I forgot that I lived with the person who ate a PB & J sandwich every school day from kindergarten through twelfth grade.
Well, that solved the problem now, didn't it? Tim's the hero of the day, and I still feel bad about whining over a sandwich.
You might wonder why I'm stuck with it. I certainly could go to the pantry and fix something else, right? Well, here's the story:
I started getting the lunches ready this morning (Yes, I need to force these children to help with their lunches, but at night, that is the last thing on my mind, so in the morning, in a rush, I usually ask them to put part, but not all, of the lunch together.) and realized it would, indeed, be another PB kind of day. I whistled as I slapped the PB on, and then scraped the last of the J out of the jar. I pushed the sandwiches into the boxes and figured that I'd make Tim a sandwich, too. (Tim is not so good about making his own lunch, or eating regularly, for that matter.) I went to find his container (he uses Melina's pink princess sandwich box) and realized it was still in his lunch bag. And that he still had a sandwich from yesterday inside the container.
Argh. I groaned. Loudly, I might add. Because a not-eaten PB & J in the box meant that he didn't need a new one, and that I would need to eat the new one, because I don't like throwing food away.
I can appreciate PB and J, I really can. But I need to be in the mood for one. And I could tell that today, I just wouldn't be. Call it a hunch, call me Velma. But no PB & J was in the plans for me today.
When I mentioned it to Tim this morning, he said, "So I'll eat two of them today." What? Really? "One for a snack and the other for lunch." Somehow, I forgot that I lived with the person who ate a PB & J sandwich every school day from kindergarten through twelfth grade.
Well, that solved the problem now, didn't it? Tim's the hero of the day, and I still feel bad about whining over a sandwich.
Comments