It’s that time again, so grab your mug and pull up a chair.
On school lunches:
In case you are wondering, yes, it’s a sandwich. More to the point, it’s my son’s sandwich. Apparently, they look so good when he’s packing them that he now often takes two bites before he puts them in his lunch bag for the next day’s lunch. Thus, he has upped his game from the one bite sandwich days.
My only hope is that when he’s sitting at the cafeteria table, he makes it clear to the students and teachers around him that his mother does not pack his lunch.
Early on in my eldest son’s educational career (preschool, to be exact), I discovered that I abhor packing other people’s lunches even more than I abhor packing my own. I therefore determined that I would kill two birds with one stone by teaching the small people personal responsibility via having them pack their own lunches. Seriously, their primary responsibilities in pre-k were to a.) carry their own bags into school on account of their mom was not also their personal pack mule and b.) pack their own lunches on lunch bunch days.
Over the years, this has compromised the nutritional integrity of many a lunch, even with my
inconsistent loving supervision.
But, to quote Lord Farquaad, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Plus, we serve broccoli with dinner almost every night, so I’ve been able to justify this and other questionable nutritional practices.
(This is, in fact, why we serve broccoli with dinner almost every night. Truth in blogging, my friends.)
This is my gratuitous aviary shot, taken of a bird that looked too sedate to ever exacerbate my fears of its species.
On a sea escape:
Some days, I think I could escape from the world on one of these. In fact, you know what I’m in love with right now? Every time the Princess Cruises commercial with the tagline “Come Back New” comes on, I sit in a stupor afterward, imagining what it would be like to “come back new.” Seriously, whatever it is that they do on those ships to make you come back new, I want that.
Princess Cruises, please text me. I’ll blog my little heart out for you if you provide a cruise that will allow me to come back new. I’ll be your poster child blogger, particularly after one of your emotional makeover cruises.
Tangentially, I think Princess’s tagline would also work well for a plastic surgeon. It wouldn’t sell me personally, but it’d appeal to those with a penchant for cosmetic enhancement that involves small weaponry and after-procedure painkillers that make some of us nauseous.
(I really, really hate throwing up.)
(Just saying. ‘Cause we’re having coffee here and all.)
On the embarrassment front:
This happened a few weeks ago, at one of my son’s basketball games. I was sitting at the edge of the court taking pictures when suddenly my lens cap rolled off my lap, onto the floor, and then began rolling across the court (at a decent clip, I might add, for a lens cap).
Y’all, I don’t like to embarrass my peoples (LCB and the small people), much less myself, but there was no way I was going to let a Canon Rebel lens cap get trampled by a pack of fifth graders, even if it meant taking the hit myself instead.
I ran after the lens cap while LCB looked on, choked with laughter. As the stars would have it, the cap managed to just elude my grasp (picture me reaching, reaching, reaching, and just missing every time – yeah, that’s how it went) until I was halfway across the court. Finally, I grabbed it, turned and ran, just missing the hoard of boys barreling down the court.
It was one of my better moments. It was so good, in fact, that at the next game, a young lady sitting next to me, probably college-aged, looked over at me about a minute after I’d arrived and asked, “Are you the lady that had to chase her lens cap down the court during the last game?”
Why, yes. Yes I am that lady.