Emma and Cabell have started at a new school this year. As a rising forth grader Emma aged out of the small Montessori school, so we transferred her and her brother to a much larger public school. They are 6 weeks into the new school year and both have made a smooth transition and are happy.
In the beginning the children were impressed by the physical size of the school and by the number of students. They have made a lot of new friends. The public school offers many activities, too. Emma has joined the chorus. There is a school-wide emphasis on reading. The children have been delighted with twice weekly trips to the library. Physical education is offered three days a week. And, by far and away, Cabell’s favorite part of the school is the gymnasium.
We have been happy parents, too. We tell other parents about the advantages of the year round curriculum and the theme based learning. We can enumerate scheduled field trips and we compliment the sound leadership form the teachers and principal. In my heart, though, I know the greatest advantage to me is the cafeteria. The school cafeteria has changed my mood, my daily behavior and, most importantly, by self-esteem.
In the five years of pre-school and school before the dawn of the public school cafeteria I had to pack school lunches every morning of the school year. In the early years I had it relatively easy. I had only Emma’s lunch to make and she was too small to complain. I would pack peanut butter and jelly, grapes, 2 graham crackers and a juice box. It took minutes of my morning and as long as I remembered to snatch the lunch box on the way out the door I was fine.
In the past 2 years lunch had become my morning nightmare. Cabell would eat a turkey or ham sandwich, but I was forever pulling the sandwich back out of the lunch box to add cheese, take away cheese, or add mustard. Heaven forbid I should be out of lunch meat because he would not eat peanut butter and jelly. He wouldn’t eat fruit, but would eat chips. He wouldn’t eat crackers, but he would eat string cheese. Some days he would drink a juice box.
Emma hates sandwiches of all kinds. She only eats cheese Quesedillas and bagels with butter and jelly. Each morning I would drag out the skillet to make Quesedillas and Cabell would want one for breakfast. Emma would eat fruit if I cut it up and sprinkled sugar on top. Frequently, she would eat all but several strawberries and send the tupperware container home in the lunch box with the lid partially open. It is tough to get strawberry juice out of the creases of a lunch box. Emma prefers doughnuts, but would eat graham crackers. She never drinks juice boxes.
At one point I gave up entirely on trying to meet their fancies and I sent sandwiches, fruit, cheese and crackers every day. Within the week I received a note from their multi-age classroom teacher which said something like, “I believe Emma and Cabell are having some difficulty with their lunch. They often have a lot of food left over that they do not prefer to eat. Perhaps they would benefit from assisting in the preparation of their own lunches.” We were back to Quesedillas and string cheese right quickly because I could not spare the time to assist them with meal preparation on a school morning.
Occasionally, Frank would try to help out in the morning rush and fix the lunches. Invariably, I would arrive on the scene and find him sneaking Oreo cookies into the lunch boxes.
“What is this?” I would demand clutching the plastic bag of cookies.
“The kids love Oreos,” he would reply.
“You know they are not allowed to bring dessert to school,” I would snarl back.
“So?” He would reply casually.
“So? So?” I would stammer. I would grab the nearest pen and paper to begin scribbling a note, “You will have to sign this note stating that you packed these lunches that include a dessert that is strictly a no-no based on the school rules. I will not be held responsible for those Oreos when the teacher finds out.” After such an outburst I could always tell by the look on his face that in his opinion I had become a school lunch lunatic.
Now, I am back to my usual easy-going self thanks to the school cafeteria. Every Monday I give each child $5 and a pat on the back and I am set for the week. Today I ran into a friend of mine who has 3 children all younger than Emma and Cabell. “How are you?” I asked.
“My life is crazy,” she replied. “The children are back in school and I am scrambling every morning to fix their lunches.”
“I remember doing that,” I said. “Every morning making sandwiches and all.”
“It’s a full time job,” she moaned. “I start working on it the night before.”
“I know,” I commiserated, “I would work hard to plan and prepare ahead. Then I’d be packing up the lunches and discover the warm ice pack on the counter where I’d forgotten to put it in the freezer over night. That always drove me crazy.”
“The ice pack?” She asked in a panic. “You put in an ice pack? Should I be using an ice pack?”
“You know,” I said leaning toward her like I was about to share the latest secret in carpet stain removal, “You really need a school cafeteria.”
I continue to spread the word about the school cafeteria. I view it sort of like Women’s Liberation. I’ve seen the light and I’m never going back to the confines of the lunch