Illustration by Drew Shannon
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I rarely let it slip that I still pack my teen daughters’ lunches. If other parents happen to find out, their eyebrows usually shoot up. Sometimes their chin pulls back, too. They typically go on to tell me why they do no such thing.
I don’t try to explain my lunch lady routine. I’m in my late 40s — I’m letting go of the need to justify my choices, especially in fleeting conversations and especially if the other parent’s eyebrows have already rocketed to their hairline. However, I now have a moment to share my logic, or more so the inklings of my gut. Plus, I can’t see your eyebrows.
On days when I start work early and we don’t have any leftovers from the night before, my daughters will grab some prepackaged snacks and a piece of fruit as they rush out the door. Without fail, calling a granola bar and an apple “lunch” makes my stomach coil (that’s a snack, not a meal!). As a result, I unfailingly beeline to the kitchen, line up food containers and prepare to pack lunches. By now I’d say it’s about 4,120 lunches and counting.
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As with many teens, my daughters have a lot on their plates: They’re dedicated students, hold down part-time jobs, play competitive hockey and socialize with friends. By nature, I’m a helpful person but I’m busy, too. I’m also efficient in the kitchen and can pull together a well-rounded lunch in half the time they can, especially when I’m slicing the same loaf of bread for dinner. I know these aren’t great reasons. Luckily, they aren’t the real ones.
What I’m really trying to do is capitalize on the time they’re under my roof. My potential to influence their life choices are already shrinking exponentially and will almost disappear for my eldest next year when she moves out to attend university or travel the world. Since I still have a chance to model healthy eating and a positive relationship with food, I’m dang well going to do so.
What I read about eating disorders in North American youth being on the rise is reflected in the messages shared by my daughters. I pay close attention when I hear them complaining about the size of certain body parts or commenting on friends who skip meals or are “never hungry.” Peer influences are strong and images of waif-thin midriffs are frequent in movies, social media and their school hallways. I’m not going to lie, it often feels like a lot to compete with.
Although my girls have learned a bit about nutrition (we arrange for a dietitian to speak to their hockey teams every year), I’ve taken notes. As a mom of athletes who is going through age-related bodily changes herself, eating intentionally isn’t just important, it’s essential (protein! calcium! carbs!). The connection between our diet and mental health also interests me, as our family is no stranger to anxiety or the turbulence of the teenage years.
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While I know that a thoughtfully filled lunch bag isn’t going to erase feelings of worry or loneliness or betrayal that have accompanied some of my girls’ school days, it might remind them that they’re loved and supported at home. Besides, the power of a piece of fudge shouldn’t be underestimated.
By packing their school lunches — sometimes alongside them, sometimes before they’re even out of bed — and using some carefully chosen words, I keep my messaging consistent.
We don’t skip meals.
We need nutritious foods so we can learn and participate in our sports.
We listen when our bodies tell us we’re hungry through grumbling stomachs and also when we’re tired, lightheaded or unfocused.
So until my girls throw their graduation caps in the air, I will continue cutting cucumbers and baking banana bread and assembling snack packs. Before I zip up their cooler bags shut, I’ll also keep adding a dash of hope. Hope that, by doing this, they’ll learn, consciously or subconsciously, how their brains and bodies feel when they feed them regularly, with care.
Going forward, I’ll probably still avoid mentioning my lunch-making routine to other parents. But since I’ve now had the opportunity to share the inklings of my gut, and my heart, I’m admittedly curious to know the position of your eyebrows.
Beth Elliott lives in Ottawa.