Oh plastic container lid, where art thou? Why do you mock me so early on a Tuesday morning? Take pity on me. The coffee is not yet ready, the sun has not risen in the sky and I just stepped on a stale piece of yesterday’s breakfast cereal and it hurt. All I need to turn this day around is the square lid that matches this square container so that I can fill it with little penguin-shaped cookies and then I can be Mother of the Year.

I know you are in here somewhere, tossed into this wooden drawer amongst the kafuffle of opaque plastic-wear, some with blue tinge, others with solid red snap-and-click lids, (which do work if you can find the bottoms to those too). You’ve probably fallen in behind my makeshift kitchen furniture, also known as the former baby-change table. Nobody recycles furniture quite like I do. I wonder if I should write Ikea and tell them that I found a new purpose for their allen key furniture.

Once upon a time, this wooden drawer and shelf fixture held tiny wash cloths and rolled flannel blankets, stacks of coloured diapers, itty-bitty clothes and sweet smelling lotions, with a comfy pad on top that was hygienically protective against the unpredictable surprises that emanated from infant diapers; an organized station of the poopy assembly line. Today, it is holds a microwave oven, dishtowels and enough mismatched plastic food containers to ruin my morning.

Never mind that now. It’s 6:00 am and I still have to make sandwiches. Then I have to figure out how to strategically pack all these containers into two lunch pails, without confusing the jam sandwich request of child A, who will only eat chocolate pudding with the sushi request of child B, who prefers butterscotch. Don’t forget the spoons. Each container must hold enough nutritionally complete food choices, yet be socially satisfying so that my children are not ostracized in the lunchroom. The right junk food selection is key.

None of this matters, of course, if I don’t find this missing lid. Isn’t it bad enough that I have already packed two items that have committed the ultimate offence of being wrapped in a wrapper? Great. Now my children don’t have a litter-less lunch. Worse still, I added a juice box. It’s probably from concentrate too. If there were a Mommy detention, I’d be in it.

Oh sure, I have oodles of plastic ware I could use instead, but the organized stacking I did the night before school started now looks like the shoe department after a BOGO sale. Yikes. You would never know the hour I spent matching lids to bottoms, stacking by size and usage potential.

No, I need this specific lid for this specific container because the geniuses that design lunch pails don’t make them big enough to fit the multitude of containers necessary for adequate lunches and two nutrition breaks. These little cookies fit perfectly into this particular cube. This is serious.

Remember brown paper bag lunches, when your math homework squashed your wax-paper-wrapped peanut butter sandwich? There were no juice boxes or freezer packs. Everything was room temperature. Yogurt didn’t come in cups. Cheese wasn’t a string. Rice Krispies were homemade. Your mom bought Tupperware at house parties, in colours like pea green and corn yellow. She always found the matching lid.

That’s it, I’m pulling out the sandwich baggies.  Detention it is. Sign me in.