PB&J on Whole Wheat
One look at our calendar this morning and I knew our day was going to be hectic. There was preschool as usual, but on top of that, I had a morning meeting at church and had agreed to sub for another fitness instructor at the Y just after noon. With travel times and the stress of donning and doffing winter gear times three factored in, it became clear that we were not going to have time to come home for lunch between commitments.
Since preschool pick-up was at 11 AM and the class I was to teach began at 12:15 PM (both at the Y), I decided the best approach would be to brown-bag it. So I made three PB&Js, sliced up some red pepper, and tossed a few apples into a cooler before we ran out the door at 8:35 AM.
The day could have proven a precision exercise in control freakdom, but the 16 ounces of French Roast I had mid-morning elevated my mood tremendously. No one was more surprised than me at how beautifully things went.
Of course, a little creativity helped. I spent much of the morning hyping our "picnic at the Y" and the "special surprise" I had in store for the kids if they could squelch the sass--which they did almost completely. (Gotta love positive reinforcement...it makes everyone feel better than does the negative variety, more commonly known as yelling and making threats.)
When lunchtime and the unveiling of the "special surprise" finally came, the kids were dying of curiosity. I escorted them to the pool observation deck, a terraced and semi-isolated space near the vending machines. And then I jangled the quarters in my pocket and revealed the surprise--they were going to get to pick their drink from the machine! Oh, rapture!
Once a large plastic bottle of strawberry milk had been purchased, we settled in to eat. The kids were tickled by this typical meal in a most unusual location and sat eating happily as they watched a gaggle of elderly folks doing water exercise in the pool below. Occasionally, one of the kids would wave in response to a smile or gesture from one of the grandmas and grandpas looking up at us.
As I ate my apple, I watched my little boy work on his sandwich. He had eaten the nice soft part out of the middle and was left with a perimeter of crust. He pulled apart the two layers of bread and, setting the jelly side down on his plate, began licking the peanut butter rapturously off of the other side.
On another day, I might have been annoyed by such poor table manners, but we weren't at a table, after all, and I had the coffee buzz going for me. Instead, I saw a sweet child uninhibitedly sucking as much pleasure out of life as he could, and I promised myself that this year, I'd focus on the gloriously rich peanut butter and more often leave the dry ol' whole wheat crusts behind.
Since preschool pick-up was at 11 AM and the class I was to teach began at 12:15 PM (both at the Y), I decided the best approach would be to brown-bag it. So I made three PB&Js, sliced up some red pepper, and tossed a few apples into a cooler before we ran out the door at 8:35 AM.
The day could have proven a precision exercise in control freakdom, but the 16 ounces of French Roast I had mid-morning elevated my mood tremendously. No one was more surprised than me at how beautifully things went.
Of course, a little creativity helped. I spent much of the morning hyping our "picnic at the Y" and the "special surprise" I had in store for the kids if they could squelch the sass--which they did almost completely. (Gotta love positive reinforcement...it makes everyone feel better than does the negative variety, more commonly known as yelling and making threats.)
When lunchtime and the unveiling of the "special surprise" finally came, the kids were dying of curiosity. I escorted them to the pool observation deck, a terraced and semi-isolated space near the vending machines. And then I jangled the quarters in my pocket and revealed the surprise--they were going to get to pick their drink from the machine! Oh, rapture!
Once a large plastic bottle of strawberry milk had been purchased, we settled in to eat. The kids were tickled by this typical meal in a most unusual location and sat eating happily as they watched a gaggle of elderly folks doing water exercise in the pool below. Occasionally, one of the kids would wave in response to a smile or gesture from one of the grandmas and grandpas looking up at us.
As I ate my apple, I watched my little boy work on his sandwich. He had eaten the nice soft part out of the middle and was left with a perimeter of crust. He pulled apart the two layers of bread and, setting the jelly side down on his plate, began licking the peanut butter rapturously off of the other side.
On another day, I might have been annoyed by such poor table manners, but we weren't at a table, after all, and I had the coffee buzz going for me. Instead, I saw a sweet child uninhibitedly sucking as much pleasure out of life as he could, and I promised myself that this year, I'd focus on the gloriously rich peanut butter and more often leave the dry ol' whole wheat crusts behind.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 9:34 PM
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