There are many times that I revel too much in my own importance, but none so much as when it’s lunchtime. As I whipped up lunch this afternoon, I smugly noted that nobody could do my job. It isn’t rocket science, but it does require (ahem) experience and intricate knowledge. A hired temp couldn’t manage the task. Only me. This is what I know:

    Kid #1: Turkey, Salami, Mayo, Cheese, tomato, toasted on 2-4 slices of sourdough
    Kid #2: Salami, Mustard (light on the mustard), on 2 slices of wheat
    Kid #3: Salami, Mayo, Cheese, on one slice of wheat and cut into sections corresponding with her age
    Kid #4: Will blessedly eat her sandwich however you make it, but will finish it and always ask for more.
    Kid #5: Milk (and could you please do it now?)

Additional notes:

  • Any cheese is fine, so long as it’s not American.
  • Don’t skimp on the bowl of fruit for the table unless you want a revolt.
  • Don’t put out pickles unless there’s enough for everyone.

    • You might have noticed that I like to crow about my kids, but please don’t test the waters by offering them a wrongly made sandwich. It’s just not pretty. These are my kids, and I know stuff.

    It isn’t only during lunchtime that I think of myself more highly than I ought. If my arrogance was confined to my sandwich-making, I wouldn’t have too many problems. As it is, there are many occasions that I need the reminder of Galatians 6:14, “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.” We are daily being poured out for Jesus. It is easier to do that when I remember my rightful place.