Let's Do Lunch

"Lunchtime!" The proclamation at 11am produces the gleeful celebration of most kids at The Big Red Barn. Excitedly, they shuffle to the table and happily accept their Hello Kitty, Spider Man, or random Disney insulated bags. They start to unpack, shouting out: "I got fruit snacks!" or "I got Cheetos!" or "I need help!"

I shuffle around the table, poking straws in Capri Suns, opening bags of chips, taking sandwiches out of zipper bags, and rationing goldfish on paper towels. These are the easy things to assist with. However, not all lunchbox contents are created equally. For example: fruit cups. When I see a fruit cup, I swoop in and grab it, open it over the sink, drain it, and return it to the child. I don't understand why the dear fruit cup makers think that children will be able to peel the lid back without slinging sticky corn-syrup laden juice all over the table, the floor, and probably the child's classmates. I have a feeling that the fruit cup makers had a meeting with the same developers of the Make-Your-Own Pizza Lunchables. There are few lunch options that produce more mess than those scrumptious delights (that's sarcasm). I mean, really, what are they thinking?

I can just hear the men in suits who have never had to assist a dozen kids at a time with their lunches. "Hey let's make a convenient lunch that kids have to put together themselves! We will make sure that the cellophane wrapper is on really well so that they have to pull the crap out of it to get is peeled off, then the cheese will fly all over the place! Brilliant! And let's put the sauce in a little wrapper that no child can open! And let's not put any kind of a napkin in the box so the child has nothing to build their pizzas on. This will be great!"

"This will be great!"

Okay, maybe I'm not being fair here. Maybe older kids can handle pizza Lunchables just fine, and maybe kids do have fun "making" their own. But if the point is convenience, why not just have the pizza already made? Are they worried that it will tarnish the gourmet taste and texture of their product? Have you tasted a Pizza Lunchable? There isn't far for that shoe to fall.

I could say the same about the Lunchables that feature a tiny hoagie roll, little packets of mayonnaise, vacuum-sealed ham and cheese, and a drink that you have to make yourself by pouring a packet of flavored sugar (red, no less) into the tiny opening of a miniature water bottle that will tip over at the slightest nudge. How is that convenient? The mentality is lost on me.

Maybe I need Lunchable enlightenment. Maybe I'm being too closed-minded, thrifty (ok, cheap) and practical. I don't think I've bought one for my child more than one time- and that was at a grocery store in the middle of nowhere that had no other "healthy" snack options (yes, I use that term lightly). But for everyday? I just can't do it. From where I stand, most of these little yellow boxes simply result in a lot of waste. I cant tell you how many times I've thrown away little trays filled with crackers, ham, and processed cheese. They always eat the treat, though. I suppose there are redeeming qualities; the other day I saw one with a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup in it. If the kid had thrown it away, I might have had to go "George" on it. Did you see that Seinfeld episode?

But I digress... My point is that kids seldom more than half of a Lunchable- unless they are the nacho kind (those are always a hit). And that brings up another problem: sharing. When a child has a Nacho Lunchable, the question "can I have one?" is inevitable. There's just something about those little pools of salsa and cheese sauce, coupled with the kid-sized corn chips, that is irresistible to the younger set. And then, I have to be the mean lunch lady (sans hairnet) that says "no sharing!" which is confusing to the kids because I've been telling them to share toys all day. The policy here is that kids can't share food because of possible food allergies, parental wishes for food consumption, and the spread of germs. The policy is the same during snack time at my daughter's kindergarten. An unfortunate thing, considering my stellar memory gifts. I've been scolded more than once at car pickup: "Mom, you forgot to pack my snack!" Thankfully, her dad usually packs snacks in her bag by the dozen. He lets her have all of the junk that I don't, so it works out well for her.

A few weeks ago, Lily begged me to let her bring her lunch to school. Apparently, the kids who bring their lunches get to sit at another table, and Lily wanted to sit there, too. Because I was six years old once and I understand her desire so well (more than she realizes), I conceded. I told her it would only be a one time thing and proceeded to slap together a lunch from our ill-prepared cupboard. It was like reliving history, as evidenced by this old essay:

 Cafeteria Food

Old School!

  All of the cool kids brought their lunches to school. They were called to line up during home room so they could deposit their character lunchboxes on the special table in the cafeteria. There were few brown paper bags; a brown paper bag was almost as bad as a plastic confetti cafeteria tray.
 I wanted to be in that line. I wanted to stand up there proudly, to feel everyone’s eyes looking at me- to show off my lunchbox and my independence. Cafeteria lunch? Not me, I had my own, thank you very much.

 Every month, mom sent a check for lunch. It covered the meals for myself and my twin sister Susie. Although I liked having a twin, I always felt that I wasn’t able to get away with much by having one. There was always somebody else around, too privy to what was going on (at home and at school), preventing me from telling tall schoolyard tales, to tell the real story, to challenge me with her questions. But Susie wasn’t in Mrs. Hebert’s class. She wouldn’t know everything that went on in there. She couldn’t tell mom and give me away.
 We had a metal Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox in our room. It was filled with fragments of dull crayons, pieces of peeled crayon wrapper, and pencil shavings. The inside walls were graffitied with random marks and scribble. It had never been used for a school lunch.  

 Who knows why I did it when I did it when I did it, or why one day the urge was too strong to deny, but on one nameless morning I brought my own lunch to school. I woke up when it was still dark outside. I cannot remember if my waking was premeditated from the night before, or if the mission appeared in my head when I woke up restless. I’m almost certain that I knew my intention when I went to sleep the night before.
 Quietly, I snuck into the kitchen. The crayons that had been in the Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox were now scattered in a blue and white Adidas shoebox. I climbed on the kitchen counter, found a box of Kellogs Frosted Mini Wheats. I got two pieces of bread and a slice of American cheese. The cheese was slapped between the Bunny slices and wrapped loosely in aluminum foil. We didn’t have fancy things like Ziplock bags. In place of the Oreo cookies and other treats that other kids treasured in their lunchboxes, I placed three Frosted Mini Wheats, also wrapped in aluminum foil. Because we didn’t have the fun luxury of juice boxes, I knew that I would have to settle for buying milk from the cafeteria. I was okay with that- it wasn’t that much of a faux pas.
 With my bounty planted safely in Strawberry Shortcake’s harbor, I returned to our bedroom with the lunchbox. Susie was still asleep, not wise to my stirrings in the kitchen. When we left for school a couple of hours later, Susie saw me carrying the lunchbox. I acted like I was supposed to have it. She asked me what was in it (more times than I was easily comfortable with), and my only reply was a defensive “crayons”.   

 By some happy childhood miracle, I made it out of the house and onto the bus without getting found out. Once I made it on to the bus, it wouldn’t matter much. Who cared if Susie told when we got home? At least I would have had the day to do what I wanted.
 As I wished, I got to add my lunchbox to the table in the cafeteria. I was so proud when I got up to join the other “cool” kids in the front of the class. Mrs. Hebert asked “anyone who brought their lunch, please line up”. I sprang from my desk, made my glory walk, and waited with the others. 

 When lunchtime finally came, I opened the box and tried not to act surprised about the state of its contents. The aluminum foil was halfway unwrapped, and the sandwich that I had made at 5 AM was haphazardly sprawled within its wrapping. It was at that time that I began to understand the virtues of mayonnaise (it makes good glue), Tupperware squares, and Ziplock bags. Dry crunchy straw crumbs had leaked out of the aluminum foil surrounding the Mini Wheats. I pretended like everything was as it should be, even though I did feel disappointed (school lunch was certainly better than this crap), and self conscious because my lunch was not up to par with the other’s. My mom didn’t fix my lunch; how could I, a six year old, compete with that? Our family bought the generic food from the black and white aisle at Delchamps! My parents didn’t waste money on individual bags of potato chips and juice boxes. Mom made pitchers of Kool-Aid- that was the extent of our sugar water.

 I went home that day, never found out by Susie at school or on the bus. In my room, I put the crayons back in their proper place. Even though I got away with it, I never tried to bring my lunch again. I suppose I figured there were worse things to eat than cafeteria food. 

Lily hasn't asked to bring her lunch again. Maybe it was because i told her it was a one time deal, or maybe she realized that the cafeteria food wasn't as bad as she thought. Just like me. :-)

Just in case you're feeling nostalgic- how cool are these?