I admit it,
I send my child to school,
with a lunch that takes me,
approximately three minutes to prepare,
and zero imagination!
The bread is white!
The meat is processed,
and neither is cut into a special shape.
The apple is sometimes bruised.
Then sin of sins,
I add a couple of biscuits,
usually covered in chocolate,
and top it all off,
with a bar,
although sometimes that is,
a really “healthy” cereal bar!
Outside forces conspire against me
trying to force me,
to make more effort.
I am not religious,
but my daughter is a Catholic,
along with the majority of this country.
This means each year,
we have Lent.
My daughter takes this seriously,
and makes an effort,
to “give up”something she likes.
Whilst I pretend to do the same!
This is indeed an admirable quality in my daughter,
however it has disastrous consequences for me,
as it completely changes the lunch box.
“Oh mum, I’m off anything chocolate,
“Aren’t you so good darling” I say,
“Oh for Gods sake,
what the blazes can I give her for lunch?”.
Each morning I stare at that lunch box,
as a writer might view a blank page,
Nothing comes my way.
So these days she gets grapes with the apple,
and another sandwich,
topped off with plain biscuits.
Now that I am blogging,
I see many sites,
with recipes, and photographs of dinners.
I see imaginative lunch boxes,
prepared with great care,
demonstrating how much those mothers,
love their children.
I wonder how come I am so lacking in this department.
Last week when word press had a challenge,
to post a photo of food,
my immediate thought was,
what jar would I picture?
Some days this does actually trouble me.
I have even blogged before,
about my lack of talent in the kitchen.
Dinnertime, wheres that jar!
However, I cannot imagine I am alone.
For every one beautiful lunchbox,
and magnificently prepared dinner,
I am convinced,
there are many more,
pathetic lunch boxes,
and questionable dinners.
So to all you out there,
whose talents do not lie in the kitchen,
I say speak up.
Is it possible that my children are right,
when they judge my culinary efforts.
Am I really the worst mother ever?