Parents call me ‘extra’ for putting daily notes in my son’s lunchbox

After six years of packing his lunch, writing a quick note has become part of my morning routine (Picture: Phil Adams)

‘I hope you are having a good day and don’t forget to eat your veggies! Love you xxx’ 

This little written reminder, scribbled on a scrap of paper, was the last thing I slipped into eight-year-old Leo’s lunchbox alongside his pitta bread and veggie sticks. 

Some days I just write a row of hearts; other times I write a joke. Whatever the content, I end it by telling Leo that I love him. 

And after six years of packing his lunch, writing a quick note has become part of my morning routine while Leo is scoffing down his breakfast. I tuck it in amongst the food, knowing he will find it as he sits down at midday – a tiny burst of home, right when he might need it most.  

I’ve had parents call me ‘extra’ when I’ve shared my routine; others have rolled their eyes and told me bluntly that ‘kids don’t need to be reminded of you during the school day’ and that I was setting the bar unfairly high.  

But honestly? I don’t care.

Some days I just write a row of hearts; other times I write a joke (Picture: Kirsty Ketley)

Because for me, it’s not about trying to be a Pinterest-perfect mum. It’s all about connection, and while some kids can sail through the day quite happily without a little reminder that their mum is thinking of them – some can’t.  

It all started back when Leo was age two and in nursery. He was anxious about being left, so I began popping a little note in with his day bag – just a heart, or a dinosaur sticker with kisses, as he couldn’t yet read. It made him smile, apparently, and helped carry him through the time he was there.  

Then, as my daughter, Ella, went back to school as a seven-year-old after lockdown, I picked up a pen and wrote a joke on her snack banana (‘Why do bees have sticky hair? Because they use honeycombs!’). 

I assure you, it’s not Instagrammable doodles that I am producing at 7am (Picture: Phil Adams)

She was anxious, too – like so many children were at that time, after months of being stuck at home and being cut off from their peers. The joke on the banana not only calmed her nerves but made her friends, and even her teachers, laugh. It was a little boost exactly when Ella needed it.  

Sadly, Ella has outgrown the banana jokes, but Leo still gets a note, which he finds especially helpful at the beginning of the new school term.   

And, I admit: as a working mum, they help me too.

I know that children don’t need constant reminders that their parents love them (Picture: Kirst Ketley)

Like so many parents, I often feel that tug of guilt during the week when time together is limited. The notes are my way of staying connected, a little way of saying: even when I’m busy, I am still thinking of you. 

Do I understand the criticism? Of course. I know not every parent has the energy or inclination to do something like this.

And I know that children don’t need constant reminders that their parents love them: most kids are secure enough without a paper trail of affection, and not every child will respond in the same way.

I know that the time will come when he, like his sister before him, tells me to stop (Picture: Phil Adams)

I even get that some might see it as performative – though I assure you, it’s not Instagrammable doodles that I am producing at 7am. It’s rushed scrawls on a scrap bit of paper that often don’t find their way back home.  

But here’s the thing: I’ve seen the benefits with my own children. Leo tells me he loves his little notes, that they make him feel closer to me, that they brighten his day. They have become his comfort, his mid-day pick-me-up.  Why wouldn’t I want to give him that?  

Some of the jokes – ‘What do you call an alligator in a vest? An investigator’; ‘What kind of lion doesn’t roar? A dandelion’ – like with Ella and her bananas, have also cheered up his friends.  

I picked up a pen and wrote a joke on her snack banana (Picture: Kirst Ketley)

If your child doesn’t take a packed lunch to school, there are other ways to stay in touch: a note tucked in their coat pocket, a doodle on their water bottle, a spritz of your perfume on their sleeve, or having a ‘hug button’ – a matching heart (or other matching symbol) that adults draw on both their wrist and their child’s – that the child can look at and press if they feel a bit wobbly. 

Will I keep sending Leo notes forever? Probably not.

I know that the time will come when he, like his sister before him, tells me to stop. He will be too cool to be seen pulling out a piece of paper with ‘I love you’ scrawled on it in the middle of the lunch hall.

Maybe he will give me the same eye roll Ella now does if I merely suggest putting a joke on her banana. And that’s fine.  

But for now, while he is still game, and while he still finds my jokes funny, and he still gets a warm, happy feeling inside, I will still write them. Because, while my notes might seem a bit silly, soppy, or, yes, ‘extra’, sometimes the smallest gestures leave the biggest imprint. 

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