divorce · Failure · Family

PB&J and the Meaning of Life

For whatever reason, I hate making PB&J, but my kids love them.  I hate the way everything gets all sticky and crumbly (I have a lot of weird quirks like this.  You’ll see.), so I have a system.  Yes.  A system.

  1. Pull out enough paper towels to cover the width of the table.  I won’t need any, but I don’t want to risk any crumbs jumping ship onto the table.  I am not about that life.
  2. Neatly stack bread in little piles of 2 because that just makes sense.  Think about it.  Right? Okay.
  3. Take the JELLY FIRST (idk wtf was wrong with me when I made these.  I usually buy Uncrustables, but I am on a budget–which I will share another time.  That said, I had already stuck the butter knife in the PB and it was too late.  I had already committed.).  Do you know why the jelly first?  Because you can wipe it off on a piece of bread before you switch to the peanut butter thus avoiding crumbs and cross contamination. It’s actually VERY smart of me. Obviously.
  4. After you’ve jellied ONE SIDE of each sandwich, you gingerly take the un-jellied piece from the bottom of one stack and PB that bitch right in your hand, careful to hold said bitch over the rest of the little bitch stacks. Why? Because you don’t want the crumbs going all over the place you crazy anarchist, you.
  5. Place PB side DOWN onto the jelly side.  Boom. sandwich made.
  6. Repeat until the entire loaf is used,
  7. Place sandwiches in sandwich bags (OVER THE PAPER TOWELS OR YA GONNA HAFTA SWEEP LATER!).
  8. Place all sandwiches in the freezer…

and done!  Brilliant, right?  Everyone is all meal prepping on Sundays so I thought I would join the craze.


Anyway, whilst making a loaf’s worth of PB&J, one really gets to thinking.  I usually think about the meaning of life and stuff since I am literally making over a dozen PB&J sandwiches.  It crossed my mind that my kids probably have a PB&J every single day during the week unless they’re with their dad.  I started to wonder whether or not I was doing them justice by packing  their lunches with a variety of things and always a PB&J.

I decided that consistency was nice.  I mean,  that’s good for kids, right?  It was, after all, after 10 pm on a Sunday night when I made these sandwiches.  My bed time is near 9 pm so I was already an hour deep into a sleepless night.

Why sleepless, you ask?  Well, I still hand their laundry to fold, their toys from the day to pick up, their lunches to actually pack and I was pretty sure my son had crawled into my bed rather than his.  Not that I mind, I love his snuggles, but he also loves to put his feet in my face.

It was then that I realized that I am doing a pretty damn good job for a single working mom who is also in University.  They have clean floors and clean clothes.  A clean smelling, safe, clean home, clean sheets (sensing a theme here?), a clean, mostly bug-free yard to play in, a bunch of bubbles and OH MY GOD…

…they have literally ounce of love that I am able to muster in tiny back heart.  I literally love those kids more than myself.  I never knew what that was like.

So, while I feel like I am failing them daily, I know they don’t see it that way.  I know they how much I love them.  They don’t see my failure to provide a tasty sandwich variety, they see me making their favorite sandwich for them because I love them.  Every. Single. Day.

I think that’s the meaning of life; to love and love until you have no more love to give.

Spoiler Alert: You’re not going to run out of love.


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