Metro explores the latest trends emerging on the West Coast of Canada.
On the menu: Penne pasta with chorizo and a dash of frustration
The Big Squeeze: The curse of the hot school lunch -- what do you mean you didn't eat it?
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It’s still dark when my alarm goes off. I’m tired - but not because there’s a newborn in the house. It’s because I stayed up late to watch “one more” episode of The OA on Netflix.
Should’ve gone to bed earlier. I curse.
I get dressed. Lay out underwear, socks, shirt and jeans for son London.
The Big Squeeze:
He’s still sleeping. Diagonally, with one arm stretched out towards the headboard, the other pointing at the kicker.
Deader than disco.
“London - get up.”
“Let me guess - school,” he says, squeezing scorn from each syllable.
“Your clothes are on the bed.”
I go downstairs to make breakfast, realizing on approach that last night’s dinner dishes are still in the sink.
I curse. Do dishes. Make London toast and blend a fruit-shake for myself.
For my lunch, I toss a salad.
Back upstairs, London sits next to his clothes. Progress. I give him a hand putting them on because he’s eight and if I don’t he’ll be late for high school in 2021.
“Could I get a hot lunch today?” he asks.
It’s 8:30 a.m. and I’m boiling penne rigate. Then frying chorizo, adding vegan butter, salt, pepper, Parmigiano Reggiano and parsley. I toss it all into a Thermos and throw that and his water bottle into his backpack.
We trudge back upstairs to brush teeth. Then say goodbye to partner Suzy and daughter Dylan. I kiss baby on the forehead. She’s sleeping, no doubt exhausted from another night’s worth of peeing, pooping and puking.
Suzy is happy, even though she might never sleep again.
I drop London at school. It’s 8:59.
Now coffee, a 45-minute commute then a glorious eight hours of work.
My parents get London at school and, after work, I drive 40 minutes to the YMCA, where he has weekly swimming lessons.
“He has math homework,” my mom says.
“How was lunch?” I ask as we get into the car.
“Wasn’t hungry,” he says.