Feed Me

Puck eyed the purple carrots I had packed for his school snack that morning.

“Uh, Mom? That’s the weirdest snack anyone will have ever eaten at school. Those carrots look poisoned.”

On that note, we left for morning classes.

One hour and forty-five minutes in the lunch room. One personal-sized carton of milk splashed all over the linoleum. No one claimed responsibility, so I sopped it up with wads of paper towels before it turned into a “thing”. Because 4th graders love the drama of “things”.

Afternoon pick-up found Puck and Big J ogling a box of five-day-old cupcakes at Hans’ desk. Heidi, laying claim to the Barbie-pink frosted top of the stale confection, was not willing to offer any to the boys. But I’m not sure they were so interested once they observed the color, despite the perpetual after-school hunger.

“Do you have any food?” Heidi asked me.

I should just arrive with a three-course meal under one arm – Yali in the other – every afternoon at three o’clock. I know they’d polish it off in twenty minutes every time. No sweat.