what's up, buttercup?

It’s not even 9 AM and my fingers smell like garlic, the result of packing Mr. 8 a shepherd’s lunch of baguette smothered in salted butter and slices of raw garlic. 

Do you know how hard it is to find a good, metal lunchbox these days? Pretty much the only choice is “vintage”, where by vintage I mean items that all us 36+somethings could have carried uphill both ways. Vintage costs a shitton of dollars on the ebays. There are even some metal boxes from the 50s, which sounds more like vintage to me, but I guess if it’s old enough to rust, it’s vintage.

The reason that a metal lunchbox is specified is that the boys’ schoolyard is infested with squirrels, which are really just cute rats. The classrooms all have a small outdoor area, and lunches are stored just outside the classroom door. The new lunchboxes that you can buy these days are canvas, with zippers. The squirrels have McGuyvered those open, ruining zippers, on a number of occasions. Metal is the only defense against ravenous, fat squirrels.

The lunches are overpacked, I know. They are not those types of lunches that entire blogs could be dedicated to, in their bento box cute glory, day after day. Just regular lunches, though the eldest’s has a bit of a Turkish shepherd’s flair, to account for the propensity to prefer radishes, vinegar, and kalamatas over PB&Js.

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There are many philosophies in the feeding of children. My father was raised in a “finish your plate” environment and resented it, along with frozen lima beans, and so we were never subjected to that approach (or lima beans). I asked my mom if she used to cook us different things when we didn’t like the main thing, and she said, “Summer, I’m not really a very good cook, so no.” The boys sometimes sucker me in to making them each something different, but I’ve learned their wiley ways and so now this is the exception, not the rule.

My sister recently broke up with her boyfriend, because they had polar opposite food philosophies (and he was an asshole, regardless, according to me). He thought it proper to basically force feed a child, and once he made his own 4 year old son eat a full-sized fast food hamburger through tears. The lil’ child puked, yet this did not mitigate his Finish It philosophy. Heather is perhaps more yielding than I on Cassidy’s dietary approach, but it’s more in line with mine, and it works for them. Her ex thought that Heather, nearly 5 years into her parenting gig, should change to his way: give my niece a plate and make her finish it. Heather took a walk instead and learned a lesson in co-parenting (and assholes). 

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Navigating the food struggles is mostly about trying to foster a healthy relationship with food so down the road the kids will make smart choices, while at the same time trying to get enough leafy greens down their gullets to feel as if their mineral intake is sufficient. It’s fascinating to me how much energy we put into getting energy into our bellies. Now I think I’ll go have a cupcake.

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