Food has never been my favorite topic. As the old saw goes: Some people eat to live and other people live to eat.
I don't really fit into either of those little niches.
I'm the person who seriously considers (and sometimes actually manages to) pack a healthy lunch but usually just eats whatever my pocket change buys from the bank of vending machines in the cafeteria.
Sadly, I approach the kids' lunches with the same wistful enthusiasm and failure to follow through.
I search flickr for lunch ideas; I buy resuable lunchboxes and have adopted some of the tricks used by bento box afficianados. I think about all the pretty things I can send for the babysitter to feed my kids while I'm at work.
I bask in the glow of the multi-colored foods Annabel has eaten since she was a tot, and wonder exactly when her palate will pale. I soldier through the fact that Silas eats hardly anything besides breastmilk and graham crackers. I know eventually he will eat the beige menu of a normal childhood.
I even dream of the loving little notes I will put in the lunch boxes once the kids can read.
On Monday mornings the sitter laughs at me as I show up with the kids and a grocery bag full of that day's lunch offerings carefully placed in containers or bagged with colorful ribbons.
Apple slices, berries, three colors of peppers, chicken nuggets, corn, snap peas, carrots, bagels, yogurt, cheerios, oatmeal, soup, corn chips and cookies.
But my ability to continue the planning and procuring of such pretty packages is shortlived.
The downhill slide starts on Tuesday as I'm lucky to have remembered to bring the kids. By Friday, if it weren't for the sitter, my kids would be eating lint from the floor and drinking water from the toilet.