Lunch Hour?

A week or so ago I was talking to a friend who doesn't have kids yet and is part of the paid work force. She was bemoaning the fact that lately she's been so busy that she has to eat at her desk and work through her lunch hour at least twice a week.

I tried to be sympathetic.

Really. I did.

But I was envious.

Lunch hour?

Lunch? As in that midday meal that I often gulp or miss completely?

Hour? As in a whole hour to yourself?

Lunch hour? As in a whole 60 minutes dedicated to the consumption of a meal, perhaps even a meal you didn't make yourself, and maybe even partaken in the pleasant company of others who don't throw food or spill their milk?

*sigh*

I miss those lunch hours.

I will admit that lunch hour has gotten much easier since the boys can mostly feed themselves, but still I don't always sit down and eat. It can be done, but it requires precision timing.

First, I must cut up an entire meal's worth of food for three boys, guessing at their hunger level: starving, ravenous, or seriously, Mom, when did you last feed us?

Then I have to prepare something for myself to eat.

Then, and only then can I put the boys in their high chairs to eat. Because this is where the tricky part comes in.

I must time my intended consumption of my lunch carefully. There is a tiny window of opportunity. It is that precise moment between when my boys have quit falling upon their food like lions on a zebra -- which requires me to refill trays rapid pace, rather than eat myself -- and before they have filled up, lost interest and starting throwing food or screaming at each other and must be cleaned up and gotten down.

Miss that window, and I must either eat standing up, gulping food in between feeding my boys or cleaning them up, or I wait until nap time.

And when Amelia isn't at preschool, we have an added danger that must be avoided: The mid-meal potty run. Because nothing says appetizing like helping a preschooler with the potty!

Ah, yes. Lunch hour. I remember you fondly.

Some day we shall meet again.