The good news

For those of you who heard the squeals of joy yesterday, it’s because pizza was on the menu in the cafeteria. PIZZA. Kind of like The Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, except a little less religious and totally edible.


That’s what I woke up to yesterday morning: Leta’s face two inches from mine in the dark. Not at all startling. I said, well, good morning to you, too, and no, I did not know about the pizza but something tells me you’re pretty excited about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to peel myself off of the ceiling.

We’re using peer pressure to our parental advantage and have forced Leta to eat lunch from the menu in the cafeteria. No packed lunches. When we first considered this, we sort of felt like we were about to drop a bomb on an unsuspecting country. And then the citizens would revolt by staging a hunger strike.

But we held our breath and sent her to school WITHOUT PROCESSED FOOD OMG. Would she return ten pounds lighter, her hair falling out in dry, matted chunks?

You guys, Leta touched a turkey sandwich. Also? She totally tried “this, like, weird, like, pasta thing, or something.” And every day when we pick her up from school she says, “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” I always ask for the good news so that I can prepare and physically brace myself for what is surely news that will grind the rotation of the earth to a halt, but it’s always something like, “Didn’t like the salad stuff in the taco.”

Can I get a resounding PHEW! I’m enjoying these days when something like that is her bad news and not a phone call that begins, “Um, yeah. Like, so. You didn’t need the bumper on the car, right?”