Zen Sandwiches

Every morning I face an assembly line of food, lunchboxes and water bottles.

As the mother of four growing kids, keeping track of acceptable sandwich combinations is enough to drive me to an Excel spreadsheet. I fantasize about my kids’ names as rows and sandwich innards as columns: bread, meat, cheese and condiments. Then, I could remember that my 12-year-old likes butter with salami, but not turkey; and my 17-year-old likes pickles with roast beef, but not ham. Wouldn’t it be cool if this spreadsheet could automatically highlight a daily acceptable combination? Sandwich variety would become a mindless breeze.

My sandwich making frenzy hit a low point last week. Late for a meeting, I’d run out of cheese and was still in my pajamas. Like the fish that circles the fishbowl recognizing the ceramic castle for the first time on each lap, I forgot whose sandwich I was making every few seconds. The no-go combinations conspired against me resulting in a mound of tossed bread in my sink. I hoped the chickens outside didn’t mind a little mustard. With arms full of lunchboxes, I finally ran out the door and reached my kids just before they boarded the school bus. Fifteen faces, poked with pimples to varying degrees, pressed against the window watching me in my furry slippers.

Later that morning a friend came by. Finding me collapsed on the couch, she thought I was suffering from a migraine. It wasn’t a physical migraine but an emotional one I explained.

“I’m stressed out from making kid lunches,” I lamented.

“I use Zen to make mine.”

Wondering how she combines Zen and sandwiches I sat up, my ears perked up like a curious cat’s.

“While I make their sandwich I focus on that child and what makes them special.”

It was an “Ah Ha” moment. Maybe if I was more mindful of my daily tasks, I wouldn’t feel so out of control.

I tried it the next day and it worked. This time, while making my 12-year-old’s lunch, I thought about how kind she was to her younger brother the day before, and how proud I was of her success in school. I left for work feeling grateful, instead of cursing that we ran out of mustard. This new attitude transformed my perspective and I started to wonder if I could apply this practice to other tasks I dreaded.

Sure enough, resentment for being the only one that cleans dishes in our household, turned into a meditation on how fortunate to be able to kill germs that in previous generations caused sickness. When I picked up dog doo in our yard, the voice that said, the kids wanted a dog and look who cares for it, was replaced by, how I love Luigi’s unconditional daily tail wags and licks.

So, as I perfect my zen-ability, I feel I’ll even be able to tackle homework help with ease. Maybe I can even make clothes and school supply shopping feel like Christmas.

Who’d have thought that a slight shift in perspective could have such a profound impact. I could’ve solved the lunch making frenzy by telling my four kids to make their own sandwiches from now on. But then I wouldn’t have the daily reminder to be grateful, nor the opportunity to give them a daily lunch made with love.

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