Parenting
I have to confess: I’m not the most creative lunch packer. My kids don’t open their lunchboxes to discover a colorful array of gourmet snacks or whimsically shaped sandwiches. Most days, their lunches consist of a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a yogurt tube, and an apple. I strive to keep things healthy and appealing, but juggling four lunches daily leaves little room for elaborate preparations.
However, amid the simplicity of my lunch packing, there’s one cherished detail that stands out. Each day, without fail, I slip a handwritten note into their lunchboxes. I may not be the most artistic or patient mom, and I often find myself distracted by Pinterest, saving ideas I may never implement. Yet, like many parents, I want my children to feel deeply loved and to know they’re always on my mind. The notes I write — often silly and heartfelt — serve as tangible reminders of my affection.
These notes take many forms: a quick haiku (“Enjoy your lunch / Sorry about the stale bread / It was all I had”), a whimsical drawing, an uplifting quote, or simply a note wishing them a great day. They’re scribbled on scraps of paper, sandwich bags, or even on bananas with a Sharpie. Regardless of the style, my kids can count on discovering a message from me each day, a small gesture meant to bring them joy and comfort throughout their school hours.
Imagine my shock when I learned that this sweet tradition was, in fact, a source of embarrassment for them. After a typical day of school, I was sorting through their backpacks, tossing out the remnants of their lunch, when my youngest son, Max, casually mentioned, “All my friends wanted to see the note on my sandwich bag today.” I felt a swell of pride for a moment, believing that my notes were well-received, only to have him follow up with, “But I was embarrassed.”
His older brother, Alex, quickly chimed in, confirming that his peers deemed my notes “babyish.” My heart sank, as if I had been dealt a blow. I had envisioned my notes as tokens of love, but now they seemed like the very source of their discomfort. I had anticipated that they might outgrow my affectionate gestures eventually, but not this soon. Trying to mask my disappointment, I shrugged it off. “Okay, no more notes then.”
Yet, sensing my dismay, Alex reassured me, “You can still put notes in if you want, Mom. I don’t mind.” Max echoed his sentiments, “Yeah, it’s okay, Mommy. My friends might just be jealous.” When I inquired further, they admitted that while it could be a bit embarrassing, they still appreciated the notes. Ultimately, they encouraged me to continue the tradition.
Despite their reassurances, I felt deflated, suspecting they were merely trying to spare my feelings. As I washed out the sticky remnants of yogurt, I felt compelled to check the bottom section of Alex’s lunch bag, which I typically left empty. To my astonishment, a cascade of notes spilled out. He had saved every single one I had written him throughout the year, some dating back to the previous year and now worn with age. Tears of joy filled my eyes; my notes mattered to him. He cherished them enough to preserve them.
So, the next morning, I resumed my note-writing with renewed confidence. This time, I made them smaller and more discreet, respecting my children’s growing independence while maintaining this cherished connection. After all, if a mom can’t embarrass her kids a little, what kind of mom is she?
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Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, Jenna Harris shares her journey as a lunch-packing mom who adds handwritten notes to her children’s lunches. Initially met with embarrassment, these notes turn out to be treasured keepsakes, reaffirming the bond of love and connection between parent and child. The story highlights the delicate balance of parenting, where affection can sometimes clash with the growing independence of children.