Do you know that expression about having to lie in the bed you’ve made for yourself, like it’s supposed to be a bad thing? I’ve always questioned its meaning because to me, the reward for making the bed would be being able to lie in it for the rest of the day. And that’s actually a good thing, right?
As I prepared the kids’ lunchboxes this morning, I found myself thinking about a variation on the expression. Something along the lines of: “You’ve made your lunchbox, now lie in it”. Which admittedly, doesn’t make sense. Although, it must be said that the food still remaining in my children’s lunchboxes at the end of a school day often *does* look like the kids have lain in it – and moreover, their uniforms look like they’d definitely rolled the hell all over that lunch.
ANYWAY, the phrase “you’ve made your bed…” in its original form (as opposed to my radical reinterpreted form) most certainly did apply to one aspect of my lunch-box preparation… and that was in the careful writing and inclusion of “little notes” in said lunch box.
Listen, in my defence, it all started on The Pixie’s first day ever of school. I was making the lunches and trying not to weep openly on the vegemite rolls, when I remembered reading about how fellow-blogger and twitter friend The Sharpest Pencil includes “little love letters” in with her son’s lunch every day.
Before I knew it, I had written my precious little girl a precious little note that said “Mummy ♥ [Pixie]”. But because she can’t actually read yet, I then drew a picture of me and a picture of her and a whole lotta love hearts and kisses and then cut the whole thing in the shape of a heart so that my meaning could not be mistaken (that is, in case she thought the note merely said “mummy will be extremely cranky if you don’t eat this lunch she’s lovingly prepared for you” – which was certainly something I might have thought, but just not written in a note for her lunchbox on her first day).
When I picked The Pixie up school, she was so excited about the note. She had carefully folded it and put it in the front pocket of her bag. And she pulled it out and showed it to me, exclaiming with overwhelming enthusiasm: “I loved my little notey! I want one every day when I go to school!!”.
Of course, later on I heard from our little friend Master J that she’d been crying in the playground during recess because she “missed Mummy so much”. Which was probably around the same time she’d opened her lunchbox and happened upon that note… Coincidence? Um…
Anyway, The Pixie has assured me that the note in itself didn’t make her sad, and that NOT getting a note would make her sadder. And so I’ve promised her I’ll continue.
Mr Justice, in the meantime, in his eternal search for truth, justice and a fair shake of the sauce bottle in this world, asked why he didn’t get a note, too.
“What, one cut in a shape of a love heart with ‘Mummy ♥ [Mr Justice]’ on it?” I joked.
“No way!” he replied somewhat ferociously, before adding: “I was thinking something in the shape of a star, maybe with a Joke Of The Day on it.”
CUT TO: next morning, me cutting a piece of paper into a shape of a star and then writing “What do you get when you cross a cat and a parrot? A carrot!”.
Lunch box? Made? Yes, people. I’m definitely enjoying some quality horizontal time in it now.
Of course, if I’m truly honest about why I’m doing this, it’s because there is one thing that’s definitely worse than the kids wanting notes in their lunchbox every day. And that’s them not wanting me to put notes in their lunch box any more… For all this shall pass.
This post is dedicated to my beautiful little girl, who completes her first week of formal education today.