Parenting Teens

Peppermist, upon hitting the door after school: OMG WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
Me, with a snort: That depends - is it good, or bad?
Peppermist, in disbelief: you’re COOKING?
Me, rolling my eyes: Yes. Why is that so hard to believe - and you didn’t answer the question.
Peppermist, rubbing belly: OMG WHEN WILL IT BE DONE SMELLS GOOD OMG!

You might think from the above exchange that I never cook anymore. Miraculously, however, my children still grow and thrive, so I must be doing SOMETHING, right? Granted, I don’t often splurge and grab a $13 corned beef brisket either. (It wasn’t $13 bucks when I bought it though - I got it outa the clearance bin. My mama didn’t raise no fool!) So when the kids hit the door one by one and smelt the oh so deliciously bubbling away in the crockpot rare goodie, I became queen of the universe - if only for a little while.

The Pup, upon FINALLY getting a plate because it was FINALLY done: MOM! This is the kinda meat I LIKE! That I told you about from Aunties! I LOVE THIS STUFF.
Me, again with the rolled eyes: It’s Corn Beef, darlin, and yes, I know. You are mostly Irish, after all.
The Pup: With the lil balls on top!
Me: you mean peppercorns?
Peppermist: she means DELICIOUSNESS.
Me: Put that back - that’s MY plate… eat ya OWN meat, womanchild.
Peppermist, with stolen piece of cb, rolling her eyes. Wonder where she got that from?: mamphnarfomnomnom!

I dunno. Maybe I SHOULD splurge more often… they were awfully nice to me all evening, at least until dinner was done and over with. I was nice and kept the crockpot warm until the boy came home from work too. He declared me a goddess.

They better not get used to it, though. Tonight it’s back to Mac and Cheese and Hot Dogs.

Sometimes this parenting gig really sucks. You see, it went down like this:

The boy’s work has a food item once a year in march, that’s full of minty green goodness. I prefer it mixed half and half with chocolate, because mmmmmmm chocolate mindy goodness! Every single year, since the store has opened in our area, I get this delicious mix of flavors without any problem. Until a couple days ago.

A couple days ago, my tastebuds were screaming for this once a year treat, and I hit up the drive thru for it. I was told that they couldn’t do that. I stammered “but… huh? since when?” and was told it wasn’t allowed. I said well, then pull TWO - one chocolate, one mintygreen, and pour half of each into a third cup and give it to me. They said no again. Color me disappointed. I had a large diet coke instead. Sigh.

That’s when I made the first mistake. I told my son. Who was all “aw HEYALL naw!” And, despite my protestations took me in, to ask what happened and again ask for the chocomint treat, before he decided to go behind the counter and make it himself. Someone narked - someone who has done her fair share of mistakes too.

Cue bedlam. Not right then, no, but when he went to check his schedule the next day. They suspended him for a day for “going behind the counter out of uniform and making a shake for his mommy, messing up the machine.” Yes, a professional write up included the word “mommy”. (cute rolling eyes HERE). And the machine was not messed up either.

Not only that, but now instead of 30 days to make crew trainer, they’re making him wait 6 months, and spent his entire shift yesterday berating him for this, and for half a dozen other things that were totally unrelated to him, while praising folks that have multiple write-ups for REAL reasons, etc. They even told him that we should have just asked them to pull two shakes and pour half of each into the third.

….uh. yeah. I did.

And yeah, cue mama feeling like shit for something that was thought by all involved to be all in fun - complain in fun, pick on the counter in fun, smiling managers having fun. Alas, something between the time we left, and the time he went back the next day to check his schedule made them decide it was ‘dump shit on The Boy day’. They made my kid feel like shit, they made my tough yet sensitive baby boy cry in frustration when he got home, and quite frankly, I’m mad as hell about it.

What really sucks, is that there’s nothing I can do about it, despite being the unwitting instigator of all of this. I have never been one to nark, but part of me wants to anonymously call and complain about the amount of messed up orders, the rude employees, the mishaps here and there that I know about. Part of me wants to rush in and demand they lay blame were it belongs - at the customer that complained and started all of this (which would be me) all for want of a chocomint treat.

All I can do, is hug him and talk to him and listen to him and try to give him ways to deal with this ball of shit thats rolling downhill. It’s clear that something’s going on higher up, and we all know that rolls downhill, especially in the fast food industry. He’s been told by the manager who is still on his side, to just put a happy face on it all for the next little while, and it’ll blow over. The boy doesn’t like putting on a happy face when he doesn’t feel it, but I all I can really do is encourage him to do the same.

It just plain sucks.

ETA: But I haven’t lost my touch to make him smile while facing a crap day. All it takes is rewriting Beyonce’s “Put a ring on it”. Observe:

Here’s my finger you can sit on it…
Here’s my finger you can sit on it…
Don’t be mad when i make you spin on it…
Here’s my finger you can sit on it…
Oh oh OH oh oh OH oh oh OH oh oh OH….

The boy: You really know how to make somone feel special, mom.”
With a smile, even.

I know. I’m not normal.

When I was growing up, we had an elderly preacher live with us for 11 years. The story goes, Mama decided to pray for patience once, and God delivered by giving her an old man who’d try the patience of a saint. And he did, daily.

Grandpa S was, well, he was something. He was set in his ways, and ornery and determined, and annoying and amusing, smart and all things that older folks usually are. He would sit in his room for hours, typing on his VERY noisy old typewriter, writing devotions to submit to various publications he had been involved with since attending Seminary at Grace College waaaaaaaay back in the day. We’d dutifully proof read, and then make sure it got sent off to the right place, and back he’d go again to typetypetype on the keys.

While it wasn’t always the perfect arrangement, it did each me a tolerance for the elderly, even when they were driving me up the wall. He always had interesting stories, and as much as we swore it wouldn’t be so - we kinda missed him when he moved out. We even missed his tendency to wander out into the yard, pick dandelions, toss the yellow flower, wash the rest in the sink (And I use the term “wash” loosely. VERY loosely.) then throw them in a bowl with some Italian dressing and add it to his lunch or dinner.

I was reminded of those Dandelion Greens salads when a video came through my feed reader this morning, featuring Clara, a 93 year old grandmother, who’s grandson films her as she cooks meals she and her family used to get by in the depression. Potatoes, eggs, and other cheaper items stretched to feed a lot of people, in order to get by - valuable lessons to learn at any age, and especially now with folks recession obsessed. She tells stories as she cooks, and her grandson often focuses on her hands as she measures and stirs and hows us how to stretch our dollar - we see the slight tremble, the age spots, and remember that folks before us have survived worse - we can survive too.

So I encourage you to check out Great Depression Cooking with Clara! Who knows, you might find a recipe that you like - and that your kids will eat. We’ve done something similar to her grandson’s favorite ‘poorman’s meal’ for years at my house! Check it out:

And have the teenagers watch it too - they might learn something, even if it’s just a simple meal they can wow their future girlfriends/boyfriends with while cooking in a single pot while at college. Who doesn’t need to know something like that, right? Exactly.

Any parent of a teen knows that the hardest part of raising teenagers has nothing to do with the sex talks and the video games and the rebellious spirits and the bad grades and the desperately needed naps. No, the hardest part of raising a teen is keeping them FED. And when I say keeping my teens fed, I really mean my teens, their younger sister, and ALL OF THEIR FRIENDS.

Do you have ANY idea how much teenagers EAT?

The most surprising thing I’ve learned, however, is that feeding teenage girls is ENTIRELY different then feeding teenage boys. With boys, especially with boys that have driver’s licenses and jobs, they simply go to the store and pick up frozen pizzas in a variety of flavors, use the oven (thus heating the whole house - added benefit here in AK!) scarf the spoils of their labors, and leave the pizza boxes on the counter. See the picture to the left - and yes, that is a plate of crusts there in the middle somewhere. That is two nights worth of pizza runs, sure, but still, that’s a LOTTA pizza. Some of our boys are BIG boys, and as we’ve come to expect, the youngest of the group is the biggest of the group! We got a couple of linebackers, and a couple of running backs - none of whom play any sport at all, naturally. The football coaches at the high school have been trying for three years now, without luck.

Boys are easy. It has to follow a couple simple rules - be fast, involve no real prep time, and be eaten immediately. If it takes longer then 2 minutes, then it only works if they can convince the girl to do the actual work. (See: Pizzas.) It also has to involve minimal cleanup. Because they’re not going to do that either, until threatened with bodily harm.

And then there’s the girls. Girls are a completely different animal, and it doesn’t start at teenager, it starts really around age 11 or so. The difference with girls is that they will MAKE something to eat. They don’t mind putting the effort in for a bigger reward, and will actually cook something. This means that NOTHING IN THE PANTRY IS SAFE! If they can conceive it, they will make and eat it. Yes, it boggles the mind, but Teenage girls EAT MORE and better when compared to the simplicity of the boys.

They are also a little more creative when giving a shopping list. For the girl’s last birthday party, the following is what was requested for to fill out their snack table:

Something…
Sweet
Salty
Crunchy
Sour
Chewy
Cold
Fizzy
Chocolate

Can you decipher that? It’s really quite easy. Chips covers both crunchy and salty, Sweet is a variety of hard candies, sour and chewy is covered by sour gummi worms, cold means ice cream, fizzy means soda, and Chocolate means, of course, Chocolate, the more the better.

Then, they raid the pantry, and several of these items are added to or accompany sandwiches, cakes, pasta, etc. They get quite creative, the girls, and there is MUCH giggling. And much cleanup - which is where they side completely with the boys. They won’t touch it, unless threatened with physical harm.

Or the withholding of chocolate. Rule number one in the feeding and care of Teenagers - ALWAYS save the best snacks for bartering and bribing in order to get the dishes done. Or to eat in front of them when they’re too busy groaning at how full they are because they ate too much. MUHAHAHAHA!