hot lunch

Friday's were the day that came closest to heaven. Square slices of tangy-sauced, institutionalized pizza thrown on a cold tray and a five cent carton of plain milk. All the bases were covered. Carb, protein, dairy and veggie all in one. Perfect for the 3 minute lunch. On more than one occasion I surpassed all previous heightened sensory inputs when stacks of peanut butter cookies, larger than my head, beckoned me at the register.

Setting the largest cookie in my site from three kids ahead, I'd pull out my prepaid meal ticket and pray; pray that the other three kids wouldn't see my cookie. The cashier's hair net and white apron conjured a  comfortingly similar appearance to my grandmother. I think she helped protect my cookie just by the sheer advantage of remarkable resemblance. There was no German accent like Muma but her stature and warm smile always helped calm my proprietary anxiety. Two kids to go...one kid to go...Ahhh sweet relief!  The patty of delectable peanut buttery confection resting safely in my possession, I'd relinquish my light blue stub and find my table facing the door to the playground. It was always a tentative moment finding a seat amidst the sea of faces, but with my peanut butter cookie I was invincible; my heart swelled with love, confidence and sweet anticipation. On those days, I was happy.

I would be happy just expecting Pizza. Pizza and p.b. cookie? Totally awesome.

So, because I believed my children were direct extensions of me I gave them the same privileges. Every Friday they got to by hot lunch. Every Friday it was, and still is, the same pizza I loved as a child. (wow - really?) Just until recently, however, I learned that my kids hated that pizza? WHAT?! How can you dislike something I cherished so intensely? Something in which I found so much solace? OK fine...I am flexible right...I am not 9 anymore...right....check...got it. My children are not me.

Now they have the ability to scan the weekly menu and choose the day they want to buy. Tatum was so vested in her choice that she waited a whole two weeks for Beefy-Cheezy Nachos to rotate through again. Surprisingly, my son's equal enthusiasm was not thwarted. From the experience two weeks prior, I had expected the agonizing discomfort of boiling cheeze application to the roof of his mouth to sway his decision. Apparently Beefy-Cheezy Nachos is my Pizza.

They each crumpled the three, one dollar bills into their left pants pocket with heightened anticipation. I attempted a coaching session at the bus stop so as not to replicate the need for beefy-cheezy band-aids.  With nary a wave, the effusive excitement eclipsed my suggestions as they climbed up the stairs of bus number six towards the land of nacho heaven.

Later the wheels on the bus chuffed up the hill around 3:07. The dog stood en point as the flashers flashed and the safety bar slowly extended. Eyes as wide as saucers, they hurdled over the bar and lept with joy to tell me about their day. Their lunch, more precisely.

Tortilla chips smothered in LOTs of beef and LOTs of cheeze sat in queue. The copious amount of toppings that dressed each mountain of chips set their hearts a flutter. "I've been waiting for you..." they whispered from underneath the heat lamp. The membrane of dehydrated cheeziness indicated that it had been sitting long enough so as not to blister the roof of one's mouth. It was hot lunch perfection. Expectations exceeded by the sheer enormity of the portions got me to thinking. Their delight was heightened by the oozy plethora of cheeze and beef - more than they expected.

How often do we set ourselves up for despair when we expect more? We are barraged with advertisements that condition us to this state of constant disappointment. Why not spend more time giving more and expecting less?  Why not give unconditionally...give just to give? Why not spend more time seeing how we can serve than to be served? Have you ever given, witnessed or received a random act of kindness? I guarantee that if we all jumped onboard with this idea, the world would smile. So my question to you is how beefy and cheezy can you become?