I’m not sure how we evolved to this rhthym, exactly. I remember a few mornings where I was harried and he shooed me upstairs to finish getting ready for work and took over packing the lunches. However it happened, it’s working well for me. It’s working well for the kids, too. Who makes great wraps? Dad. Who instituted Chicken Burger Fridays? Dad. Maybe Claire from Modern Family was right: There can only be one fun parent.Regardless, we got rhythm! And, really, who can ask for anything more? (with apologies to George Gershwin) I get up first and do my lunch thing, slicing apple, pouring juice, adding cold packs to lunch bags. Then he gets up and I pass the invisible baton, heading upstairs to make myself presentable for work. There is something pleasing about the cadence of it; about this notion of marriage being about sharing the fun stuff and the slightly tedious stuff. It feels like we’re a well-oiled machine.
Mostly.This morning when he came downstairs, he peered into the open lunch bags on the island and noted the absence of that one main, stick-to-your-ribs, stay-with-you consumable.
“I thought you had a plan,” I reminded him. “Something about leftover ham?”Ah, yes, he remembered, as I headed upstairs. I swooped back through the kitchen 45 minutes later, grabbing my lunch bag off the counter on my way to the back door. Glancing inside I noticed the glaring absence of The Main Thing. He didn't realize I needed anything like that in my lunch.
Apparently our machine could use a little more oil.****
What’s for lunch tomorrow?
- Carrot bran muffins with pineapple and raisins
- Fruit cups
- Yogurt drinks
- Rice crackers
- Apples. Again. (I’m getting sick of apples)
- ??? ß I don’t know. It’s not my department. J