Boymom

I am a boy mom. I have a boy who is 23, a son of 15, and a Grandson of 16 months. So for 23 years, I have been a boy mom. I have fixed enough food to feed a small county, fried enough chicken to hang with Kentucky Fried Chicken, grilled enough steak to get a medal at the Sizzler, and cooked enough frozen pizza to own stock in Totinos. Yes, I am the lady at the grocery store that no one wants to be behind. You smile but don’t make eye contact as you skim the contents of my buggy. Nope, not getting behind the grocery hoarder lady so just move on. Surely that woman is shopping for a month. Nope, just a week at the house of empty vessels. Where food goes down a never ending tube of teen boys to never be seen again. Nope, I will never be seen in the ten items or less line, nor in the self check lane. Big box stores are my friend as well as the SUV I drive to track it all home. I tried about a year ago to go the small car route. I could only have one other person with me if I was getting groceries and because my son is an athlete, I was getting a greasy ugly stain above my window where his head would hit when I turned and his sweaty hair brushed up against it after practice. Can you say Gross!? What’s on you car roof? Just sweaty nastiness from my son's head. Super fun to explain to friends who happen to be in my car. Oh, boymom fun let me tell ya.

The pictures represent the amount of food I cooked tonight for the three family members in my home. Keep in mind that is not including my oldest son and my grandson or daughter-in law. Five pounds of Chuck Roast, five pounds of potatoes, a bag of baby carrots, and mushrooms. Remember that. Three. Myself, my husband, and the empty vessel. Oops, I mean my 15-year-old son. Now before you judge, my 15-year-old just turned 15 a few months ago, but he is 6’3” and weighs about 250. That dinner was completely gone in no time. Where did it go??? He has to be an empty vessel. That’s the only way to explain that amount of food being eaten in one setting. I can assure you this is an everynight occurrence. I never cook less than two pounds of ground beef, a family size bag of chicken, or multiple frozen pizzas (Did I mention he’s an athlete and we are not always home, frozen pizza to the rescue!). I am totally trained to cook in Banquet mode. I feel I thaw half a beef at a time. I read a recipe and my mind is on automatic double that recipe. Hey, I should do a cookbook for teen boy moms whose minds don’t go into auto double mode or to document the crazy meals I have made from what is in the cabinet.

OK, with that said, I am here to confess that I am a food hider. Ding Dongs in the freezer under the frozen broccoli, peanut butter cups in the cleaning cabinet behind the windex and Nacho Doritos behind the towels in the linen closet. There I confess. But I am not ashamed. If I didn’t hide it, I couldn’t ever eat it. I recently discovered my husband is a food hider too. Little Debbie Brownies in his night stand, cookies, and chocolate syrup in the convection oven (I never use the convection oven) and the occasional candy bar in the sock drawer. I would try to find a Foodhider support group but he won’t live here forever and then we can keep our food in the pantry like normal people.

So there you go, life of a boy mom. Never boring but sometimes hungry.