A Sandwich Wish

Sean doesn’t know how to make a sandwich.

Ok, let me back up…

We were getting ready to go to an amusement park.  Now, for me, going to an amusement park is one step above going for my yearly gynecological exam as far as the fun meter goes.  Being flipped over, flung every which way and spun until I puke lost its childhood enthusiasm when, well… when I puked.  Try sneaking your brother’s white Member’s Only jacket back in the closet after that! 

Needless to say, preparing for a day that I take part in strictly due to my relationship as a parent is a bit daunting.

Watching the weather, finding a dog-sitter, packing sunscreen and extra clothes are all given responsibilities for the day.  However, a day at the amusement park to fill my children’s mouths is also exorbitantly expensive.  Thus, we brown bag it.

And this is where the sandwich making comes in.

I have clothes to pack, shoes to tie, and my purse-to-fanny-pack transformation to undertake.  I didn’t think I was asking the impossible when I said, “Sean, make your sandwich.”

“What’s a sandwich?”

You’re kidding me, right?  My son, the Boy Scout who has made and eaten many a sandwich on campouts, wants to know what a sandwich is.

Really?

“You know… the thing you eat on campouts… with two pieces of bread and ham.”

“No, I don’t.”

Hoping that this was merely his early morning attempt at humor, I brushed it off and told him to go make it.

“Um, Mom.  What do I do?”

Crap, I don’t think he’s joking.

“OK, Sean.  First you go in the freezer and get the bread out.”

As Sean searched for the loaf, I entertained the idea of chucking the entire day out the window and going back to bed. 

“Then you open the fridge and get the ham on the shelf.”

Sean opens the drawer in the fridge.

“No, on the shelf.”

He again goes for the drawer.

My thought?  Oh, this is going to be painful. 

Step by agonizing step, as if we were literally going through one of those exercises in school where you write out every detail of opening a jar of peanut butter, we made our way towards the ultimate goal of stacking two slices of ham in between two slices of bread.

Eventually our precious creation was sealed in a bag and placed in the cooler.

I wondered all morning what type of culinary amnesia had come over my son.  Was it something that he wasn’t used to?  Was it because we weren’t out in the woods where it was our only sustenance?

Crazy as it may sound, could it even be the new air freshener that I installed in his room and the “adrenaline rush” that he claims to get from it that is causing this newfound absence of knowledge?

As I say so many times…. I don’t know.

I put it to the back of my mind and enjoyed the beginning part of the day as much as I could.  Fortunately, Ashley is too young to ride most of harrowing attractions.  Thus, I was able to happily keep my feet on the ground up until early afternoon.

But lunch lingered in the future.

No worries.  He’ll be hungry.  Whatever aversion he had will be overcome by a starving teenager.

After getting our hand stamped for re-entry and a leisurely walk to Tweety Row 32 to find the mini-minivan, we settled in for the quiet comfort of air conditioning, padded seats and the contents of the cooler.

Roast beef?  Check.  Peanut butter?  Check.  Bologna?  Check.

Ham?   Ham?

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, Sean.  That’s the only thing you have for lunch.”

He took a bite.  Maybe two.

Whatever was stuck in his head from earlier was back in full force.  It could have been the bread.  It could have been the ham.  It could have been the temperature of the sandwich.  Or was it the fact that it was made with clean hands on a clean countertop instead of with fingers that had deep inset dirt that comes only from being out in the woods?

I don’t know.

The resealed bag was tossed aside, never quite making it back into the cooler.  Luckily, it was found before becoming something that smelled worst than teenage funk.

The ever-present granola bars were retrieved and consumed. 

Life was back in balance.

Will I attempt the sandwich thing again?  Definitely.

Will Sean eat it?

You all know that answer as well as I do.

I simply don’t know…but I wish I did.