To Be That Mom

I always bought lunch as a kid. I remember a lot about standing in the lunch lines, and the various meals that I loved and hated.

I don't remember ever much having a packed lunch, except for field trips.

But I do remember what other kids brought in their packed lunches (and how bitter I was when the skinny popular girl had Little Debbies every day with her lunch and I wondered why she could eat that and didn't get fat, while I did. And how sad it makes me to realize I was thinking that in the second grade.)

Never mind all that. Back to the topic.

I've been packing lunch for LittleMan in his Marvel Superheroes Lunch Bag since the beginning of school. He has bought a school lunch a handful of times, but doesn't seem to care for it and I am always unimpressed with his reports back of what he did buy. And I've stay fairly organized in this endeavor, with a special cabinet, refrigerator drawer, and freezer section dedicated to the special treats I buy or make ahead for his lunch. Sometimes I even get hyper organized, and pre-package a bunch of bulk items.

The main goal, of course, is to make sure he has healthy food that he likes eating.

But a close second to that goal is a deeper, more insidious one...

I've always wanted to be the kind of mother who puts loving and encouraging notes in a lunchbox.

And so, I am.

These are just from the last three days, but they represent a lot to me.

I could make a bunch of neat notes with cool pictures and cut them out and have them waiting to pack with lunch. In an hour or two, I could knock out enough cute notes to last the rest of the school year.

Efficient, yes, but it defies my point. The note isn't about perfection. Or efficiency. It isn't about being frame-worthy. It gets wet and crumpled in the box, and then later in LM's pocket, where he likes to pull it out a lot to look at it.

These are just little snippets, either from books that we like to read together or things that we say. They are not treaties on the nature of love. I don't need to write a novella.

Little notes written on the paper from a cute set my sisters gave me for Christmas. A little picture of the Eiffel Tower in the corner, which LM loves to tell people that his mommy and daddy have visited. And hopefully we can someday take him and have a family picnic beneath.

The notes.
They are quick, impulsive, messy, private, and important, just like our family.
They are now.
And someday, they will be later. The past.