Cutting Strawberries

Every day I cut strawberries.

I wash them first, usually for a good minute, because I don’t always buy organic and I feel guilty. Then I place them on a cutting board and slice off their little green tops before chopping them into halves. From there they go into three lunch boxes. The glitter explosion, the flying superheroes, the Minnie Mouse. And then I send those berries on their way, wondering if I’ll see them again.

Because even though my kids love strawberries, throw them into a lunchbox and the odds they get eaten drop. Especially for my son. Every afternoon when I open his lunchbox and see those crushed berries, my heart falls. I know he loves strawberries, but ever since kindergarten started, he’s been leaving them behind with his discarded crusts.

I know starting kindergarten is a big change and so I’ve stayed quiet, not wanting to create unnecessary stress. Instead I’ve tried experimenting by sending in melon and pouches and apple sauce. But like the strawberries, they’ve all returned home uneaten. And so last week I didn’t pack any fruit.

He’ll ask when he’s ready, I decided. A few days later, he did.

“What happened to my strawberries?” he asked as he saw me filling two containers.

“Oh, I saw you weren’t eating them. I thought maybe you were sick of them,” I said.

He shook his head. “I’m not. I just don’t always have time to eat everything.”

The words hit my hard, my mind picturing the small boy in front of me in that big cafeteria, trying hard to finish his lunch.

“Grab a container then,” I said. “I’ll cut some more.”

And I did. That day and the next, even when they went uneaten. Because seeing those strawberries comforts him. It’s a reminder of home. A way I can say I love you, even when I’m far away.

And because one day he might want them. I want to make sure they’re ready when he is.