Making Lunch

So here is what I packed the kid for lunch yesterday:

One (1) tiny baggie of sunflower seeds, already shelled.

One small green apple (Granny Smith).

One (1) tiny baggie of Coco Puffs.

She gets milk from the school. We pay by the semester.

When I got home, at six p.m., after an interminable meeting, she was running around the house in her teeshirt and underwear beaming in delight with a hunk of year-old aged cheddar in her hand. "Did I miss Aikido? Did I? Did I?"

"Where is your Daddy?" I said balefully.

"He's asleep! He's been asleep for HOURS! Did I miss it?"

"You so missed it," I said, and dumped my briefcase on the white chair. "What are you eating?"

"Cheese and cookies," she said, gleefully. "And trail mix."

She was cutting up the cheese with a giant bread knife. Seriously. As long as a sword.

We are such good parents.

But she's not dead or damaged. Not even nicked. So, well.

"What did your teachers think of your lunch?" I asked, later, with some apprehension, b/c Montessori school is VERY strict about lunch. You wouldn't believe the grief I get over the fluffernutter sandwiches.

"Oh, well," the kid said. "They're not as bad as Polly's lunches."

"Oh?" I said, hopefully. It's always nice when someone else is doing a worse job than you.

"Yes. Her mama is in Iraq. So her daddy has to pack her lunch."

Fuck.

"He sends Yugi candy and candy-covered almonds and--"

"And that's REALLY DIFFERENT," I said hastily. "Come on. Let's see what we can make for dinner, why don't we?"