Lunchables & Cheeseballs: A Mother’s Legacy

As mothers, we hope to leave a lasting legacy of love, hard work, and all the good things.

Mine will be Lunchables and cheeseballs.

Each time I was pregnant, I had all-day, all-night sickness that left me curled up on the couch while my children swirled around me like tiny whirlwinds. It was awful. I still have nightmares. Feeding them, washing clothes, and making sure they all stayed alive felt like an Olympic event, and I wasn’t even making the qualifying heat.

My solution? Lunchables. Those pre-packaged, neon-yellow plastic trays became my best friend. The kids thought they were hitting the jackpot every time I opened the fridge. Meanwhile, I thought, This is survival, kids. Don’t get used to it.

Fast forward to the end of my baby-growing years. I was done—done—having kids. I was ready to trade in the nausea for something resembling a functional existence. But my children? Oh no, they were not ready to part with the Lunchables. “Why don’t we get Lunchables anymore?” they whined. I explained, with zero success, that Lunchables were expensive and that I was no longer fighting to keep crackers and cheese down while growing another human.

To them, I had ruined a good thing.

They wanted me to get pregnant again—not for a sibling, but for Lunchables.

Then I started grad school when my youngest was five. Every semester, I had to leave home for ten-day residencies. My husband took over household operations, but with his own busy schedule, he was in full survival mode. His meal plan? Giant Sam’s Club containers of cheeseballs.

At first, I thought, Well, at least they’re getting calories. But soon, a new family tradition was born.

The kids started associating my absence with cheeseballs. No Mom? No problem—Dad’s got the orange, powdery spheres of bliss. 

One time, as I was packing for a trip, I squeezed my youngest. “I’m going to miss you so much!” I said, my heart swelling with maternal love. “Will you miss me?”

He thought for a second, then shrugged. “Nah…we’ll have cheeseballs.”

And that’s motherhood in a nutshell—or a cheeseball, apparently. You pour your heart into these tiny humans, sacrificing sleep, sanity, and proper nutrition, and what sticks?

Lunchables and cheeseballs.

But honestly, if those little orange puffs bring them comfort while I’m gone, maybe my husband’s onto something.

Still, one of these days, I’m going to find a way to make a salad their emotional support food.

Until then, pass the Lunchables with a side of cheeseballs.