Fifty Seven Pieces of Plastic Food

My little family of three fumbled through our first year of daycare last year, every night carefully scrubbing bottles and nipples and teeny breast pump pieces.  Remembering the crib sheets, the back up clothes, and bottles of milk so my child wouldn’t starve.  The pump and cooler in their flowery bag were my constant companions.

Then there were the volunteer hours  – often taking home loads of snot crusted bibs and blankies to wash. Summer was well deserved.

Ah, the start of year two.  No more weekly googling ‘how long can breast milk last?’ No more leaving one of those teeny breast pump pieces at home and having to ask my assistant principal to borrow hers before I burst. 

But the volunteer hours?  They just keep coming.

This weekend my husband and I found ourselves washing what had to be about fifty seven pieces of plastic food – broccoli, baguettes, some very realistic red peppers – then carefully squeezing the excess water out of each and every one of them.


Someday, when she stumbles in past curfew and swears up and down that she hates us and will never go to college, I’ll wish for the simple days of fifty seven pieces of plastic food.