Last night I woke up at 2:00 a.m., suddenly panicked because I forgot to make Henry’s lunch. I actually considered getting up and making it then. What is wrong with me?
I didn’t make it in the middle of the night (what would it have been, I wonder? some kind of odd midnight snack lunch, like an olive-and-cream-cheese sandwich?), but made it first thing in the morning. And then of course we had a snow day, and now I’m ridiculously excited that lunch for tomorrow is already made.
Why am I so oppressed by the lunchbox?