I’ve always been a lunch packer…or rather a lunch taker being that the majority of my packed lunches were packed by my mom. Every day in elementary and middle school, she would pack my lunch and send it off with me to school. Being that I was a terribly picky eater, it would usually consist of a peanut butter sandwich (no jelly), applesauce, fruit snacks, etc. I loved opening my lunchbox when she packed it. It was like opening a Christmas present. I really had no guarantee of what was inside. Even when I worked as a teller during summer/winter breaks, she would pack me a lunch. (I think this has to do with my Meme telling us repeatedly “Do you know how much money I saved by carrying my lunch with me to work every day and not eating out?”). She would send me notes wishing me a happy lunch or some funny, quirky joke. Even at 20, I loved that my mom packed my lunches.
Now…I’m sitting at my desk eating the lunch I packed for myself last night. It’s not nearly as exciting. Yes, I’m pumped about the watermelon and grapes I thought to throw in there. I’m even pretty excited about my impulse-buy pretzel sticks. But it just isn’t the same. I knew what was going to be in my lunchbox when I opened it. The mystery is gone…and I’m left eating my salad while thinking “Man, I wish I would have packed the left over pasta.”
And it never fails…I always forget to pack a napkin.
Happy Tuesday friends!