One Padded Room, Please

I think I was over at Osbasso's place enjoying myself when I read a post about family gatherings and the fickle bitch that memory can be. One family member recalls an event that another family member claims COULD NEVER HAVE EVER FUCKING HAPPENED. Ever. Typically, there is no way to prove that one person is correct and the other is totally delusional. However, I have been blessed by the Internet that KNOWS ALL and does not ever lie. Therefore, I am right and YOU, my insane mother are WRONG.

On Tuesday Chicken got into a fight which required a trip to urgent care and the gentle application of butterfly tape on his thumb. The victor, (one can of tuna) remained unscathed and uneaten. Said can of tuna will be the subject of next weeks "Whack-it Wednesday" here at Sam's Stories. Due to the fight, Wednesday's planned lunch of a tuna fish sandwich was cancelled. In addition, no turkey was to be found in the house as Chicken is currently boycotting turkey in the sliced, deli sandwich form. At approximately 8:00pm Tuesday evening, after watching Nanny McPhee with Chicken and my mother, I realized two very important things: 1) bedtime was in 1/2 hour and 2) there was no viable lunch option at home.

Chicken and I headed to our local grocery store in search of a new can opener (the cause of the tuna fight was a faulty can opener) and realized that time was not on our side. How can you feed a picky child that will only eat the finest canned albacore tuna or mesquite sliced turkey for school lunch when he now won't eat turkey and we can't open a can of tuna? I know, many of you say "let the little bastard starve" but he BLED and cried and I wanted to make his poor thumb all better. This is where the Lunchables® come into the story. A mother will do almost anything to make her poor wounded child feel better. Even purchase Lunchables®.

Wednesday my mother picked up Chicken from school to take him to ice skating lessons, his first ever. She has turned into a freaky soccer mom (soccer is on Thursdays) and is talking about purchasing a minivan. I frequently need to remind her that I AM THE MOTHER, however the words just bounce around inside her head with a tinny sound and fall promptly back out. Chicken informs his "Nanny" (that's what he calls her) that he ate Lunchables® and LOVED it. She purchases two (2) more Lunchables® for the rest of the week. Disgusting.

Later in the day, my mother makes an off-hand comment to Chicken and I that he is a "chip off the old block" and the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree" or some cliche shit. It seems that as a child of elementary school age I LOVED Lunchables® as well, and purchasing them for Chicken brought back beautiful memories of motherhood for my mom. I protested vigorously. I NEVER ate Lunchables as a child, for two very important reasons:

1. They did not exist.
2. My mother was a health food freak and called white sugar "white death" when I was growing up. Even if Lunchables® did exist, I would not have been allowed to eat them.

I told my mother that Lunchables® were not around when I was a child, because I know that arguing point 1 would be far easier than point 2. She insisted that I LOVED Lunchables®. Adored them. Wanted to be their baby mama. (I've been watching too much Maury Povich, can you tell?) So I went to my best friend in the whole wide world and asked "Internet, when were Lunchables® created?" And the Internet spoke:

Before launching the Oscar Mayer Lunchables sensation in 1988, the company first had to determine an effective way to keep the product fresh, intact and appealing to consumers on its way to market.

As I was 14 years old in 1988, I am pretty sure that I did not take my happy ass to school with Lunchables® as my midday meal of choice. I was busy trying to make my hair look like this picture. (No, this isn't me) Remember those bangs with the two distinct parts? The part that was teased up into the air and the curled down section on the forehead? Rock on 80's hair!

What was my point? My mother is a certifiable nut case with a delusional memory that in no way resembles the truth of my childhood. Fucking Lunchables®. No fucking way.