The Last PB&J

I have been making two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches nearly every school day since the beginning of last September.  This morning, I made my last one as today is the last full day of school. 

I am so sick of making them, and I can’t believe that my kids aren’t sick of eating them.  I can still clearly remember the day when I was in elementary school and in mid-bite realized that I no longer loved PB&J.  In fact, it occurred to me that I really couldn’t stand them any longer.   Only, for reasons I no longer remember, I couldn’t bring myself to tell my mother how horrible they were to me.  So I kept finding them in my lunchbox.

 To this day, I still rarely eat peanut butter sandwiches.  (This is despite the fact that I always inform Shaun that I eat one for lunch everyday while he is eating  his exotic lunches out with his work buddies!)

Because of this, I ask the girls if they would like something different for lunch every single morning as I am making their lunch.  And every morning, the answer is the same, they still want them.  In fact, all of our mornings are pretty much the same.  In a strange way, I take comfort in that sameness.

At the crack of dawn, my alarm goes off.  My response is to “whack it on it’s head”, for nine more blissful minutes of sleep.  I get to whack it three times before I finally drag myself out of bed.  The first thing I do is to deeply inhale to make sure that the aroma of freshly brewed coffee is in the air.  I long ago learned that the jet taking off in the kitchen was just the grinding of beans and to sleep through it. So I always worry that my coffee maker didn’t do it’s job.  (although it has yet to  fail me.  I blame this insecurity on my prevous coffee pot.)

 My next step is to stagger into the hall and to croak out “Baaaaaabbbbiiiiiiieeeeeesssssss” in the most annoying voice as I possibly can.  (Not really hard at that time of day) KT starts moving immediately, but Mimi takes a little more work. 

Eventually we are all wide awake and dressed.  We sit around the breakfast table and aimicably just chat quietly about what the day will bring us. Well…ok…that may happened  a time or two but it’s usually a bit more chaotic than that.  This one didn’t properly pack her backpack and is missing that math homework. The other whines that her  her favorite pair of jeans didn’t get washed.  One isn’t moving fast enough and the other is singing at the top of her lungs.  Finally we realize that the time has evaporated and they must scurry out the door in order to catch the bus. Coffee in hand, I watch them from the window as they laugh with their friends at the bus stop across the street.  Soon the bus comes and takes them to school…a whole different world…away from me. 

Most kids seem to be buying or making their own lunches at this age.  Some of my friends don’t even get up with their older kids.  It’s true, my children are plenty old enought to take care of themselves.  They don’t need me to get up with them or to pack them a lunch.  But they want me to. 

And because of that simple desire, I do…

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