Lunch Ladies

I know the first question on your mind last night or this morning when all 2,456 of you checked my blog was “How was Iz’s day at work with me?” I hate to say it; however, all my subtle yet mildly persuasive chat to her about it being a overrated experience rang true. But, I was not one to be Glum, even though on Tuesday morning, I asked her “Are you sure you still want to come to work with me?” about 18 times.

One of the many things I liked about my girl, Iz, was that she was determined. She was determined to: avoid taking a bath each night, teach the cats how to read, uncover the truth about the rainfall in Florida, and just say “No” to wearing a life jacket. Sometimes it was hard for me to distinguish between determined and stubborn; however, whatever the characteristic, I knew she definitely got it from me.

After I filled my Italian straw basket with all the things I needed for the day, I said to Iz, channeling Julie, the cruise director, “Iz, I cleaned the DVD player. Did you put it in your backpack yet? Pick out the movies you want to bring. Is your DS charged?” Of course, her portable DVD player, which had been mine for all of 10 minutes, looked like it had been though one too many food fights and one small war, which may have been a tug-o-war.

I poured my coffee. Iz answered my question by going to the cabinet where we kept the DVDs. I heard the door creak open, and then I heard the sound of cases opening and closing and the discarded cases falling onto the floor.

She came around the corner carrying her DVD case and backpack. She said, “Momma, I’m all ready.” I had to laugh to myself, because I wasn’t, given that I thought she’d be, as usual, way behind schedule. I glanced at her backpack slung over her shoulder, and then I looked at the empty toaster that was still waiting to toast my English muffin.

I was at a loss, so I said, “Um, go brush your teeth.” She headed off upstairs. And, I scrambled to toast my English muffin and be ready by the time she came back downstairs.

A few minutes later, we climbed into the car; however, before I put the car into reverse, I felt a small tremor from the back seat. Iz asked, “Mommy, where are we going to eat lunch?” I said, “In the cafeteria.”

She asked, “Do you have lunch ladies.” I said, “There are some women who work in the cafeteria, but we don’t call them lunch ladies.” She asked, “What do you call them?” and I answered, “Lisa and Sylvia.”

She asked, “Do you know them?” I said that I did. Satisfied with that answer, she picked up her Nintendo DS and began to play a game which rendered her question-less for the whole ride to work. Amazing but true!

Once we arrived at work, Barbara, our receptionist greeted her. I signed Iz in as a visitor and grabbed her Visitor badge; I pinned the badge to the collar of her shirt. She moved her hand to the badge as if to scratch it, touched it, and asked, “Do I have to wear this all the time?”

I told her that she probably should, though I doubt my company would ever figure her for a corporate spy. The night before, the only thing Iz wanted from my company was their unlimited supply of Fresca. Personally, I never liked the whole badge concept either; while I knew it was necessary, it seemed like a necessary evil especially when it came to trying to find a place to adhere it to some of my outfits.

As we walked down the hallway, the people who passed us smiled at Iz. Given the times, I think most there where glad to see some “new blood” due to the fact that the company had given up way too many pints the last year. My half pint of A+ sauntered down the hallway soaking up her transfusion status.

Once we arrived at my office, Iz unpacked the contents of her backpack. She plunked everything down on my desk, and she settled in. I booted my laptop, logged in, put on my reading glasses, and I was ready to work.

Within 5 minutes, Iz said, “I have to go to the bathroom.” I took off my glasses, got up out of my chair, and I said, “Follow me.” Once the bathroom visit was over, Iz and I resumed our “working” positions again after she tried out my chair.



Five minutes later, Iz said, “I’m thirsty.” I took off my glasses, got up out of my chair, and I said, “Follow me.” I took Iz to the refrigerator and she said, “Ah, Fresca!” We walked back to my office where Iz and I resumed our “working” positions again but not before she made herself comfortable and kicked off her flip flops at the entry way to my cube.



Five minutes later, Iz said, “I’m hungry.” I took off my glasses, got up out of my chair, and I said, “Follow me.” I took Iz to the vending machine in the cafeteria. She pressed “A8,” a bag of Cheetos dropped down to the bottom of the machine, and she snatched them out. We walked back to my office where Iz and I resumed our “working” positions again but not before I got to enjoy the sounds of crunch-crunch from her mouth and the crunch-crunch of the bag!



Thank goodness, to break up the pee, drink ,and eat monotony, we had a few visitors; Lisa, Warren and Amrit stopped by to say “Hi.” Iz immediately ducked behind my chair and acted like she had just been inducted into the witness protection program. After 10 seconds, she’d make her way around my chair and engage the visitor in conversation like that person was one of her long lost ZhuZhu pets.

Ten minutes later at 11:20am, she asked, “Mommy, when are we going to eat lunch?” I said, “Iz, you just ate a bag of Cheetos!” She said, “I’m just asking,” and I said, “Well, if you’re hungry, we can go down at 11:30.”

Just then, I sensed it wasn’t so much about the food as it was about the experience. Her stomach wasn’t growling. She was hungry for the next work adventure not unlike I had been since I had arrived back at my old-new job.

At 11:28am, we climbed the stairs down to the cafeteria. She waltzed through it as if she were Charlie in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and asked, “Mom, what do they have?” as if the golden goose that laid ZhuZhu pets wasn't enough! Of course, I couldn’t blame her for being excited, because I could somewhat relate given the cafeteria’s salad bar was my veggie brick road. Lettuce, broccoli, and mushrooms, oh my!

After eating back in my office, there was a clear pattern. For every 20 minutes of work, I had 20 minutes of interruption from Iz. If the interruption wasn’t for food, drink, or the bathroom, it was to stand right next to me and stare at me.

I’d say, “Iz, why don’t you color?” She’d frown, and I’d think, “Oh, jeez. I should have just taken her to the beach today.” After our last bathroom trip, she sighed and said, “I’ve had a hard day today.”

Of course, I didn’t respond to this, though in my head I was jumping up and down and laughing. I had a think. I guess anyone can have a bad day, though I had done my best to warn and subsequently entertain Iz about “work.

Meanwhile, Brenda, knowing that Iz was at work with me, sent me an email which said to Iz “Ahoy, matey.” Brenda included a picture that showed the bow of a boat; however, it wasn’t the bow of Steve and Brenda’s boat. Iz, having the CSI gene, asked, “Why am I not in that picture?”

I tried to explain to her that Brenda was merely saying hello with a reference to our sailing trip, and then I started to type a response to Brenda. Just then Iz said, “Shouldn’t you be working instead of like….” I think “like” translated to “responding to Brenda’s email.” Yeah, well, I’d be working if you weren’t interrupting me every 20 minutes!

Anyway, I think this is the photo Iz was looking for. Steve captured it beautifully. She was quite the figurehead.



Eventually, Iz resumed her position watching her DVD and playing her Nintendo DS simultaneously, which I thought was sensory overload. At 2pm, she said, “Can Daddy come and pick me up now?” I texted John with that exact quote.

He said he’d come and get her. He said that he had meetings, so she would have to go to camp. I said to Iz, “You can stay here or go to camp,” and in under five seconds, she said, “Camp! We’re making sushi today!”

I laughed but it was not out loud. She quickly packed up her things faster than she had most mornings for school or camp. Within five minutes, she asked, “When’s Dad going to be here?”

We traveled downstairs to the main entrance. When Barbara saw that she was leaving, she asked, “Do you like balloons?“ to which Iz said, “Yes.” Barbara blew up a blue balloon, and Iz said, “I like blue.” Barbara said, “I knew that because you’re wearing a blue shirt and you have blue fingernails!”

Iz said, “Oh, it has a smiley face on it.” Barbara taped the balloon to a stick and then handed it to Iz. Iz said, “Thank you.”

I saw John’s car outside. We went to leave. As we walked out, Iz said in regard to Barbara, “She’s really talented!”

Like me, Iz drowned quite happily in the attention sea at “work." Whatever was really going on at work was insignificant compared to all of those who had said, “Hi” and looked happy to see her. At the end of the day, just like her Mom, she had given the job her best and left with the fact that she was appreciated by all. ♥