My husband makes lunch for our son every night. It used to be my gig, but the mister’s creations are far more exciting than mine so I’ve agreed to sit by the wayside, sipping champagne and letting him break a sweat for the mini me.
What makes his lunches far superior, you ask? Could it be the sandwich, celery sticks, M&M/peanut/raisin snack mix, fruit, juice box, and cookie contained within? Nay. Could it be the lowbrow brown paper bag, which has replaced the paid-for lunch boxes? Nay. It’s the damn logic problem. And my husband knows I failed logic in college. Three times. I hate it when he wins.
Everyday on the front of the bag, Matt writes a logic, math or word problem. The mini me and his friends sit at lunch and rack their brains figuring out the puzzles, and then he reports back in during dinner. Apparently, what started out as lunchtime busy work for Peyton and his friend Bobby the “goat killer” has ballooned into three tables worth of kids working on it, and my husband’s colleagues–who call him each morning to find out the puzzle of the day. Stupid logic.
On Fridays–well, when I can remember to grab it, anyway–I’m going to post it for your viewing pleasure. So mine isn’t the only noodle that’s baked.
- What’s your answer?