Today’s photo is from the grocery version of that store.

Someone apparently realized that while bananas come in their own perfect, Mother Nature-designed packaging, the problem is that they are often sold in bunches.  How about selling just one banana at a time?  And how about encasing each banana in plastic?  “We’ll put a recycling logo on there to look PC, boss.  Everyone will be happy.”  These singly-shrouded bananas were being given away at our swimming pool yesterday at the lifeguard shack, where someone had dropped them off.  I just had to take one for this rant.

Later this morning I’ll be emailing those wonderful folks who brought us more wasteful plastic in the name of Packaged Bananas (Malcolm:  “That would be a good band name”). 

Please, feel free to do the same!

I’m musing on school lunches today, because of two articles that popped up this morning.

This  essay was in today’s Philadelphia Inquirer, on the end of 21 years of packing school lunches.

And on a more somber note,  this was sent by my friend Linda.  The end of school means the end of a guaranteed meal for too many children in America.  It’s really sobering that as a country, we have not done a better job of decreasing the incidence of “food insecurity.”  (when did that bit of babble replace the word “hunger?”)

Today is the last day of school for Malcolm – Hugh finished a couple of days ago.   Summer begins, sleeping til noon begins (not for us, alas), and more haphazard eating begins.  I predict steady grazing all day long, which means we need to stock up on decent snacks, like grapes and cherries.

Cheezits vanish in the blink of an eye.  Same with granola bars.  We’ve almost completely stopped buying cookies because their shelf life is zero, and squabbles ensue over who was cheated, and store-bought cookies are a rip-off.  Even worse, a rip-off full of trans-fats. 

We’ve also largely succeeded at replacing ice cream with popsicles.  The current debate raging in our house is whether Edy’s frozen fruit pops are better than classic popsicles.  Ian, Hugh and Chris prefer Edy’s.  Malcolm and I find them too icy/crunchy, and prefer the perfect blend of popsicles, but I am enjoying the illusion that Hugh is at least getting some fruit-based nutrition thanks to our freezer.  And from gummy bears – there’s fruit flavoring there too, right?

Bottom line?  Whatever’s on sale wins.

Get out brown bag.  Easy enough, right?  BUT…should I right his name on it?  Does kid’s name on lunch bag in my handwriting = helicopter Mom red flag.  I really try hard to do all my helicopter parenting in stealth mode.  I settle on initials. 

Add napkin.  Do middle school kids use napkins when they eat?  My experience says no.  Then again, the napkin has been an elusive tool in our home since the boys were in pre-school.  And it’s important for us Mom’s to pursue our dreams.  Insert napkin. 

Make sandwich.  Noah requested a peanut butter and jelly.  Really?  Is that acceptable for middle school?  Don’t you want a gigantic corned beef, cheese, bacon, lettuce and tomato on a huge roll?  Apparently not.  So I made the PB&J extra thick.  Girth = manliness.  Plus, it really is better that way. 

Cut sandwich.  WAIT!  Is that a sissy thing to do?  My friend Sue offers that she still cuts her husband’s sandwich in half.  I cut my sandwiches.  OK – cut sandwich in HALF, but not quarters.  Ever.

Chips.  Fairly straightforward.  Noah chose barbeque chips; the smell alone will provide him with some lunch table cred.  Worthy of a good trade if needed.

Dessert.  Noah suggests an entire Hershey Bar. Ah, his tastes are maturing, I think.  And then I say no, even though the kid could stand to put a little weight on.  We settle on Oreo cookies – four instead of three this year, wrapped in plastic as opposed to a baggie.

Drink.  Here I panic because all we have in the house are Capri Sun Roaring Waters pouches with that cute little yellow straw attached.  I can’t see anything more emasculating than poking a straw through your drink at lunch.  Hmmmm.  How about a beer, son?  Or a fifth of vodka?  No?  Guess he will have to take one for the team until I can get to the market and buy some Snapples.

Yeesh.  Onto Chase’s 4^thgrade lunch, complete with first and last name on the bag, quartered sandwich, fru-fru drink, cheesy doodles, Hershey kisses and a note that says “I love you.”  So much easier.

I realize that neither of the boys has a clue regarding how much a I obsess care about their packed lunches.   I take comfort in the possibility that perhaps they might notice if I didn’t.

This morning as Hugh rummaged in the pantry to make his lunch (see post labeled Sifting Crumbs from Cheezits, last week), he said, “Malcolm honey, would you run down to the basement and see if we have any granola barsthankyou!”  Like me, he didn’t put a question mark after “bars” – he ran straight into the statement of gratitude which forces the other person to agree – theoretically.  And, of course, no guy would ever call his brother “honey.”

I said “You’re imitating me, aren’t you?” and he admitted it, with a smile.  Hugh is a talented mimic, and luckily for him, I was amused by his act this morning.  In fact, I like to think of it as an homage – a tribute to my speaking style – not mockery. 

After all that effort to find granola bars, boss his brother around in the style of his mother, and finish packing his lunch like a good kid, you’ll never guess what I found upon returning home from driving the boys to school.  Hugh’s neatly packed brown bag.  On the kitchen counter.   Where he left it when he went to put on his shoes, before getting distracted by some bright shiny object.

I have resolved not to chauffeur it back over to him.   Today he’ll have to beg for crumbs from the lunches of his friends.  And maybe that will teach him to put the darn lunch in his backpack the instant he finishes making it.   Tough love – better late than never.