Lunch with The Flinstones

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I went to a public school that was literally across the street from my house, from the ages of five to fourteen. Although some days I hated living that close, and others I didn’t really care, the fact was it was very convenient. Of course, living that close meant that I could easily come home from school for lunch, which was a big plus for my mom. So, from the first day of Kindergarten to the last day of grade 8, I would walk home for lunch.

Every day.

For nine years.

There might have been a school trip here or there, that warranted a bagged lunch, but I would say 99.9% of the time, I was sitting at my kitchen table, and not a table at school, during my lunch break.

My mom was a stay-at-home-mom, and with five kids, she was always very busy. My mom is old school – a Greek immigrant, who kept (and still does keep) an immaculate house despite the fact that seven of us lived under the same roof, in a house that wasn’t necessarily made for seven. And every single day she made these fabulous meals for us for lunch and dinner. Yup, every single day, there was something different on the table, and you can bet that there was no chance that any of it was processed. My mom wasn’t the sandwich type of mom either – she was the hot lunch type of mom.

So, for years, I would run home from school for lunch, sit at the table and eat with my little sister, while we got to watch The Flintstones. We had a little television in our kitchen that sat on top of a sewing machine table. Remember those old school sewing machines? The ones that were attached to the table and folded down into it? We had one – my oldest sister would use it to make us little outfits and Halloween costumes when we were younger. And when the sewing machine was put away, it housed our little t.v., and allowed us to watch our beloved Flinstones. It was a real treat.

Now that I am old and gray, I miss those days. When you’re living in the moment, and you’re young, you don’t really realize that those special moments will become childhood memories that you will cherish for years and years. And so now, whenever I see The Flintstones (thank you satellite t.v.), I think about those times and how my mom would greet us at the door, ask us about our morning, and feed us what she had cooked for us.

It’s a silly thing I suppose, to associate a kid’s cartoon with a childhood memory – but I can’t deny that it absolutely reminds me of the comforts of home and family, and my mom in her slippers and cute mom outfit, and perfectly coiffed hair.

Thanks Mom.

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Dear Mom: I promise I will try to remember these lovely moments when I’m driving my beloved six year old back and forth from school four times every day, because he wants to eat his lunch at home, even though we don’t live anywhere near the school. I will try especially hard to remember those times when it happens to be the dead of winter and the travel back and forth takes even longer. And I’m going to do this, and waste a lot of gas in the process, because I’m going to try to recreate those moments for my son (minus The Flintstones – because evidently television can now be attributed to hyperactivity, rudeness, talking back and dandruff – and in this day and age, we certainly don’t need more dandruff in the world).  Also, don’t hate me if I occasionally throw in a chicken nugget for lunch – and by occasionally, I mean often. Love Me.

Tagged as: chicken nuggets, homemade, lunch, meals, memories, School, The Flintstones