The lunch box.

I’m sorry to bother you. I don’t normally post this much in a week.

It’s Kate. This is all Kate.

I can’t even make this stuff up if I tried. 

I’ll be quick –

My husband, Scott, was in Boston last night. And his dad, Jeff, was in Toronto. I was at home with the girls. It was just another day repeating the 6:30 pm chaos including reading a string of group texts.

Jeff: Toronto Blue Jays and Yankees. Row 6.

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Scott: Tampa Bay Rays and Boston Red Sox. Fenway Park. Suite.

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Well, they’re working’ REAL hard.

I opened Kate’s furry, leopard-print backpack to check for homework.

What the…..

I blinked. I brought the paper closer to my face.

Is this a joke?

I slowly turned to look at Kate. Emma was doing her homework at the kitchen table. Kate was tapping her pencil, waiting to work on hers.

Oh my God.

I held my breath. My body started to tremble as I stifled a laugh. I turned my back to the girls and took a picture of the paper.

Me: Kate’s backpack. 2nd base. Maybe 3rd. Depends what she did with it.

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Scott: WTF!!!!!

Me: I KNOW!!!! I’m too scared to ask what these are. Hold on I’ll ask. Trying so hard not to laugh.

Kate: Mommy! Where’s my homework!

Me: Right here. Oh, hey….so tell me about your lunch box drawing. Did you do this in school today?

Kate: Yep. I did that.

Me: It’s so cute! What are you eating in your lunch box?

Kate: You don’t have to tell what you have in your lunch box.

I giggled a high-pitched giggle, walked backwards out of the room and started texting.

Me: SHE SAID YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL WHAT YOU HAVE IN YOUR LUNCH BOX.

Scott: I’m going to counseling now.

Jeff: Oh Kate.

Me: OH. KATE.

Scott: Hot dog?

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Hot dog. Cupcake. Lipstick. Water bottle. Gummy bears. The Starship Enterprise. Candles. Bacon strip.

I heard it all.

The only person that knows what’s in Kate’s lunch box is Kate.

“You don’t have to tell what’s in your lunch box.”

Thank you for your time. You guys keep laughing it up when I pull out a mini statue of David from her backpack two days from now.

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