Good Morning, Lunches

I am a maker of sandwiches and a filler of thermoses. Before my family is up, I work in the kitchen alone. I begin at the coffee maker, which is when I realize that I am not, in fact, alone. My sweet dog, Alice, is there to watch my every move. While coffee grounds transform themselves into a magical concoction to make every morning palatable, I pull out the bread, the peanut butter, the cream cheese, and/or the jelly. I boil the water on the stove for the macaroni that my youngest considers a treat, which I indulge approximately two times a week. I am so grateful for our fruit bowl that my husband fills on Sunday. It has clementines, apples, and always bananas. I open the box of granola bars like the gift they are, a dessert but also wholesome, or so I’ve always thought. I hide the zip-locked bags of sandwiches, thermoses, fruit, and snacks behind the butcher block, also nestled between two pitchers full of wooden spoons. I love my dear Alice, but I prefer to protect these treasures for the eaters of bag lunches, whom I am walking up the stairs to wake.