There are four words that mark the coming of age for a teenager. They learn these words early on, and the minute they turn 13 they begin the endless chanting of this mantra on a daily basis.
The four words are … “There’s nothing to eat.”
I can have a bowl of fruit washed and waiting on the counter the minute they walk through the back door after school, but that doesn’t count.
They walk right past it, open the refrigerator, and here it comes again … “There’s nothing to eat.”
It takes year of patience and practice for moms to learn what it means, especially because it means different things to different teenagers.
The other day, my son pulled it on me again. I followed his gaze into the refrigerator and found it stuffed full of food. I looked into the pantry. It, too, was full.
“How about some leftover pizza?” I offered.
“Yuk,” he replied. “It’s, like, two days old.” Translation: “I’m not in the mood for pizza.”
“Okay, how about some pudding?”
“Too sweet,” he said. Translation: “I’m not in the mood for pudding either. Come on, Mom, help me out here. Help me figure out what I’m in the mood for.”
It’s hard to not get irritated in these situations. These creatures called teenagers would have you believe that (1) they will die of hunger if you do not figure out what they want, (2) you should stop what you are doing and go to the store to buy whatever it is that they are hungry for, and (3) once decided, they cannot possibly heat the item up by themselves.
After much discussion, I homed in on the fact that what he really wanted for his after-school snack was something like a steak and baked potato. If I could have had it waiting for him when he walked through the door, that would have meant I was a really great mom.
I told him he was living in La-La Land. He settled for a bowl of soup.
Then a couple of days later, we had the steak and baked potato for dinner, and there were some of those leftovers in the fridge the next day.
My daughter opened it up and, staring right at the steak, said … you guessed it … “There’s nothing to eat.”
“How ‘bout some leftover steak and potato?” I suggested.
“Yuk. Too heavy,” she replied.
I suggested some grapes, again with no luck. It turns out she wanted a certain brand of cereal that we were out of. None of the other ten boxes were what she had a hankering for. Therefore, there was “nothing to eat”.
No, I wouldn’t drop what I was doing and go to the store for her. She, too, was living in La-La Land, I told her.
Then there’s the grown-up version of “There’s nothing to eat.” My husband opened the pantry last night and commented that it had been awhile since I had been grocery shopping.
Translation: “I want a tuna sandwich and we were out of tuna fish. Therefore, it must be time to go grocery shopping again. And there’s nothing else to eat.”
Well, I just looked in the pantry myself and, sure enough, there’s nothing to eat in there. There’s nothing in the refrigerator or freezer either.
Translation: “I’d kill for some spaghetti right now and I don’t have all the ingredients to make it. Looks like a trip to the store this afternoon …”
And I’ll pick up some tuna and cereal while I’m there. Then the pantry will be overflowing again.
