If you had seen how excited I was when I was packing these lunch boxes, well, I’d be embarrassed. Because this is ridiculous, I know.
(Hey, go read A Whole New Mind. This is about design and play, people.)
Good Man’s Lunch
My Breakfast and Part of Lunch
A hard-boiled egg was added later.
The Tupperware part of my pig flips upside down to fit inside the bottom of the pig, making it pack up smaller if I wish. It can be a one- or two-tier lunch box. Good Man’s is the same way. Those four pull-out cups fit in that large tray, which sits on another tray of the same size, making his a one- or two-tier box, as well.
What prompted the sudden cuteness of lunch boxes? I’m sick of telling Good Man, “There are four servings of spaghetti in that pot, eat only one for lunch” and coming home to find two servings left. This messes up my whole menu/cooking/lunch/dinner system. I also realized that if I leave him to eat fruit with lunch (or breakfast) on his own, he won’t. If I stick a pear or a peeled orange in front of him, though, he’ll eat it. No problem.
Tonight I asked, “Do I need to pack your lunch of one of those bento boxes to get you to eat?”
I was mostly joking, but his eyes lit up, followed by a passionate, “I am not Japanese! Not bento! 도시락통!”
OK, doshiraktong it is.