Rocket Lunch
Every day when Logan gets home from school, he bounds in the doorway, inviting anyone who happens to be in his path (usually just me and the girls - and Baby Mason) to join him in the living room and proceeds to enlighten us with "The Reports."
Ahem.
"First Report. Folder Report."
As he says this, he pulls out his blue five-star take-home folder (love five-star; that folder will probably still be at the top of its game when Logan is old and falling apart) and proceeds to relay all of the day's exciting news, describing in detail every. single. one of his important projects and the upcoming events at school. Should the teacher ever manage to slip in something that comes as a surprise to him, a five or so minute ordeal will inevitably ensue wherein I must painstakingly read every word of the offending print-out, pausing occasionally to acceptably explain any terms or concepts that he may find unclear. He then goes on to study the paper himself (he reads reasonably well) before we commence discussion on how best to handle situation.
"Second Report. Lunch Report."
Somewhat haphazardly retrieving the Thomas The Train lunch sack from his oversized school bag, he begins with an overarching minimalist synopsis such as "ate everything" or "not so good today" or "ran out of time." He then removes each empty Rubbermaid container individually, bestowing on them, one by one, a noun plus adjective description:
"Grapes? Gone. Yogurt - Gone." (His teacher says he always goes for the yogurt first.) "Oranges - Gone." Nothing is omitted. Not even items whose containers have been discarded in the school trash can: "Granola Bar? Gone. Juice Box - Gone. Fruit Snacks - Gone.
The daily ritual concludes with the semi-archaeological mitten and hat dig, occasionally requiring expansion to a second dig site such as the Elementary Lost & Found, immediately followed by "homework" if there is any (something about the caliber of 4K homework just seems to necessitate quotation marks,) then the much-anticipated daily Sesame Street viewing.
Following the dramatic removal of the lunch sack from the ridiculously ginormous* bookbag, the Lunch Report bears a tendency to not-so-gradually slip into a state of marked tediousness and monotony, so it comes as a nice breath of fresh air when remarks like the following manage to weaves their little way into it:
"Cornbread: Soggy. (singsongy, somewhat scolding tone) Shouldn't've put it next to the juice box; Plum Sweets: Disgusting. I do not like Plum Sweets. I ate all the yogurt raisons from in between and left the Plum Sweets behind. (Nods definitively. Fails to notice the hungry, chop-licking toddler lurking off to his side, waiting patiently for him to step out of the room. You know what they say - One kids lost Plum Sweets are a little one's gain..,) and, last but not least, my newest favorite from today...
..
One of Logan's favorite lines from The Muppet Christmas Carol is when Rizzo the Rat says, "Mother always taught me: 'Never eat singing food.'"
So perhaps the age-old animosity of young children toward vegetables can be explained more simply than one mom might have thought. I'm pretty sure I've taught Logan at least once, "Never eat unstable food."
And they say kids don't listen...
(*I was a bit shocked that Blogger's automatic grammar check failed to digitally berate me on my ungrammatical use of the non-word ginormous. My first thought following the initial shock was this, "My congratulations to Will Ferrell who has miraculously succeeded in creating a word!" For verification, I decided to look it up and retrieved the following description from the Online Etymology Dictionary (who knew that existed?):
ginormous (adj.) 
1948, perhaps originally military colloquial, from a merger of gigantic + enormous.
Thanks 1948 military! You're awesome. Goshdarnit. Now I kind of want to look up awesome... and goshdarnit :( It's gonna be a long night...)
"Grapes? Gone. Yogurt - Gone." (His teacher says he always goes for the yogurt first.) "Oranges - Gone." Nothing is omitted. Not even items whose containers have been discarded in the school trash can: "Granola Bar? Gone. Juice Box - Gone. Fruit Snacks - Gone.
The daily ritual concludes with the semi-archaeological mitten and hat dig, occasionally requiring expansion to a second dig site such as the Elementary Lost & Found, immediately followed by "homework" if there is any (something about the caliber of 4K homework just seems to necessitate quotation marks,) then the much-anticipated daily Sesame Street viewing.
Following the dramatic removal of the lunch sack from the ridiculously ginormous* bookbag, the Lunch Report bears a tendency to not-so-gradually slip into a state of marked tediousness and monotony, so it comes as a nice breath of fresh air when remarks like the following manage to weaves their little way into it:
"Cornbread: Soggy. (singsongy, somewhat scolding tone) Shouldn't've put it next to the juice box; Plum Sweets: Disgusting. I do not like Plum Sweets. I ate all the yogurt raisons from in between and left the Plum Sweets behind. (Nods definitively. Fails to notice the hungry, chop-licking toddler lurking off to his side, waiting patiently for him to step out of the room. You know what they say - One kids lost Plum Sweets are a little one's gain..,) and, last but not least, my newest favorite from today...
 |
| "Peppers weren't gone, but they exploded out." |
One of Logan's favorite lines from The Muppet Christmas Carol is when Rizzo the Rat says, "Mother always taught me: 'Never eat singing food.'"
So perhaps the age-old animosity of young children toward vegetables can be explained more simply than one mom might have thought. I'm pretty sure I've taught Logan at least once, "Never eat unstable food."
And they say kids don't listen...
(*I was a bit shocked that Blogger's automatic grammar check failed to digitally berate me on my ungrammatical use of the non-word ginormous. My first thought following the initial shock was this, "My congratulations to Will Ferrell who has miraculously succeeded in creating a word!" For verification, I decided to look it up and retrieved the following description from the Online Etymology Dictionary (who knew that existed?):
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