Things we don’t really do a lot over here: bread.
It’s not on purpose or for any crazy dietary reasons, we just don’t really like bread all that much. I promise you I’m not some crazy bread-hating freak that forces her bread-loathing onto her son. I even hid my anti-bread ways from him only to spot him eating only the insides of his hamburger/sandwhich when he was like two years old.
So we use it occasionally, obviously, but not often. That also goes for things like flour tortillas, white rice, and other similar things. Bleh.
However, I woke up this morning with terror in my stomach as I realised a) I can’t grocery shop until the end of this week and have only weird stuff left, b) my son has an all day field trip at school today, and c) I have to pack him a cold lunch.
Oh, dreaded cold lunch! Why do you keep popping your little brown bagged face up in my sunny window of lunch responsibility freedom? I mean, WHY do you think I send my kid to school? Certainly not to learn. I could sit him at a desk and let him cut pictures out of the junk mail for hours on end right here at home and I’m pretty sure that he would eventually learn what an apple is as well as how much it costs with and without a super saver card.
But no. I don’t send him to school to learn. I send him there so I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE HIM A LUNCH!
So, there I am, scrambling to put together a lunch that will not shame my child or get CPS called on me. The wining combo? One polish sausage, a baggy full of canned pineapple, a slice of american cheese, an older water bottle washed and filled with lemonade, and one flour tortilla from the pack my father gave me last night to use with his turkey tacos… of which I ate right out of the package, cold, without a tortilla.
My son was very excited by his lunch. It must have seemed very foreign… er, exotic.
But then I remembered he also needed breakfast.
“Here, have the rest of the canned pineapple and… and… uh, would you like a tortilla?”
My son has been known to get really excited about foods he has never tried and mow down on them only to open his mouth in freaked-out disgust a few bites in. It’s like his tastebuds are delayed.
Once, when he was about 3, we grew a mess of green beans in our backyard and he took a chomp out of one and promptly spit it on the ground.
“Dis is yucky, momma!”
“Ok, baby. You might like them better when we cook them.”
I turned my back to finish picking a few more handfuls, and when I went to dump them into the basket that was in his lap, he had a pile of spit-up bean tops in his lap and every green bean in the basket had a bite missing.
“Dey are ALL yucky, momma.”
“I admire your determination…”
Fast forward a few years and here we are with a plain tortilla for breakfast, parental guilt washing over me as I watch him and wait for him to spit it out after his enthusiastic brain storm allows him to actually taste what he is eating.
And he just kept on eating it.
“You like it?”
“Yeah! I could eat the crab outta this!”
“Baby, there is no crab in it. You don’t even like crab… you hate it, actually…”
“No, mom. The other word that sounds like crab but I can’t say cuz it’s a bad word? So I said “crab” instead. You know, I can eat the “crab” outta this!”
I… am going back to bed.