The joy of hot lunch.

I suppose, in the beginning, this was our fault. The first Friday of every month, C and M have a half day at school. This month we missed the fact that New Year’s Day was actually the first friday, so we sent them to school on the second Friday with no lunch. Oops.

Our nanny, who had come to pick up the boys, rushed a lunch to M and C could buy hot lunch since his class now eats in the cafeteria. We have an account for the boys to buy milk from every day, so he could use that for lunch. Well, they served pizza that day, and he was smitten.

We had decided this year to keep packing lunch for C despite his class eating in the cafeteria. We did not want him choosing from the general crap they serve on the menu. French toast for lunch? Hot dogs, pizza and chicken nuggets? Whatever happened to salisbury steak and green beans, mystery meat and other cafeteria glories? Some of the meals they serve aren’t bad, but no school lunch menu should have french toast one day and pancakes the following week. And pizza every Friday?

Okay, maybe I was just jealous.

Well, C was more than intrigued by the hot lunch phenomenon. He was so enamored that he started plotting how to get it. He bided his time, not wanting to blow his cover all at once. He courageously let french toast day go by, chose a pbj from home over the meatball sub and passed on the grilled chicken sandwich. But the “lasagna roll-up” won us over. He was very careful in getting his snack out his bag, and then told his teacher that he didn’t have lunch. Not assuming that she was up against the a 5 year old hot lunch junkie mastermind, the teacher put him in line for hot lunch that day in the cafeteria.

Our mastermind forgot one thing, the lunch in his lunchbox. K and I came home that day to a note from the nanny that C had bought lunch. We talked to him about it and moved on. I made him lunch the next day and off he went. It was pizza day, though. We were behind the curve.

Fast forward to the end of the long weekend. I make lunch for Tuesday and pull their lunchboxes out. C’s is mysteriously heavy. Inside is the a four day old turkey sandwich (blessedly still in its ziploc bag) and his granola bar. Turns out he could not resist the pull of pizza. So, I had to pull my trump card, C buys hot lunch, M doesn’t get milk anymore. Is hot lunch worth your brother not having anything to drink?

The ploy seems to have worked, but partially. We’ve stayed away from getting our hot lunch fix, but are only eating half of the sandwiches I make for him. We’ll see who wins this one.

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