I’m on lunch duty. Every day.
Every day I either make The Kid lunch or read the menu and ask him “do you want waffle sticks for lunch today?” and if he says know I search his room for drugs because he’s high on something if he doesn’t want sugar for a meal.
Some mornings he’s either too tired to understand the question or has second thoughts about his lunch choice while not getting dressed and not moving any level above “barely f*cking standing upright.”
We’re in the car about to pull out for school, and I tell him “Remember you’re having grilled cheese for lunch today, ” and he goes “you made me grilled cheese?” and I said “no, you’re buying it” and he almost jumped out of his chair and into the front seat to choke me.
So he’s back in his seat and the girl is in her seat eating her like 8th breakfast of the day (really just a bite of her 8th breakfast) and I’m inside the house throwing together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the world record people won’t respond to my emails but I know it didn’t take longer than thirty seconds to make, toss in his lunch box, and hit the road.
He’s at school, and she’s at her preschool in time for her 9th breakfast, and I’m home turning over his mattress, searching frantically for those drugs so I can take them before he gets home.
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