Casually, as if the decision she had made was something other than momentous, my wife announced last week that the children would be packing their own lunches. Outwardly I supported her surprise decree, but inwardly I knew that it was the height of folly – perhaps even hubris. Surely this would prove a bridge too far for even the likes of Erin The Great. And yet, for the fifth school night in a row, there is a miniature assembly line of children in my kitchen diligently making sandwiches and capably filling Ziplock bags with fruit or boiled eggs or similar fare. Where once I had four lunches to pack, now I have none. And all at once, whole new vistas open before me. What other chores could I offload onto these admittedly tiny but nevertheless competent and underutilized hands? Might they be trained to balance the check book? Pay the bills? Navigate TurboTax software on my behalf? Review and revise the steady stream of non-disclosure agreements that hit my email inbox? My mind is afire with the possibilities. Today the lunchroom, tomorrow the world!