Bento A-Go-Go

Among the types of mothers you may know are the Smug Cloth Diaperer, the Maniac Lactivist, the Organic Fanatic, the Homeschool Hero, and the Annoying Bento Lady–you know, the friend who’s always making grotesquely cute lunches for her kids, taking pictures of her creations, and then forcing you to look at them even though you get no joy from the sight of white rice compacted into the shape of a bunny rabbit with wee sesame seed eyes.

Do you have an annoying bento friend?

Well, you do now! COME LOOK AT MY PITCHERZZZZZ!!!!1!!1!

Don’t be afraid. There aren’t that many, and honestly, I’m only doing this because, as I told Simon when he laughed at me for taking a photo of my very first preschool lunch masterpiece, I know it won’t last forever. That I’m still doing it now, two months later, is a shock to us all. I hate (and am certifiably terrible at) cooking and ingredient prep and meal planning and all of that stupid stuff related to staying alive via foodstuffs (ANNOYING), yet in bento I seem to have found my groove. It’s not making food, just arranging it. It’s not cooking, it’s crafting.

Besides, Wombat eats nearly everything, so it seemed a shame to send him to school every day with nothing more exciting than a bread-shaped PB&J and a plastic baggie of Goldfish.

(Nothing wrong with Goldfish, though. Especially the rainbow ones.)

(Wombat cut the cheese shapes himself.)

I called this one Circle Time:

Get it?

Kirk Cameron (yes, that one) sayeth that the fact that a banana is just the right shape and size to fit in a human hand is proof that God exists. I say the fact that raspberries fit in a silicone star cup just so prove that bento is the one true Way.

Okay, that’s all I have, and we’re all still alive. As you can see, I’m not going nuts building a scale replica of the Taj Mahal out of pretzel sticks or anything, and so here’s where I turn over this old-timey soapbox and stand on it for a second so everyone can hear me say “If I can do it, anyone can do it [if he or she wants to].” It’s usually as easy as putting a snack in a colorful container (from the Japanese dollar store) or drawing a face on an orange with a Sharpie. There was that one time I spelled out Wombat’s name with precision-cut ham slices, but I think we can chalk that up to my over-eager amateur status and not to any true and lasting lunch-related mental illness.

I’m fine, really. I CAN STOP ANY TIME.

Mad props to Wendy Copley of Wendolonia, whose bentos I’ve admired for years. Although her designs are always great, she made the process seem not so intimidating. If you’re into this stuff, make sure you check her out.