Sorry, Mom.

"You ate all those peas?" I asked.

"Yep.  And I had more spaghetti.  I'm a teenager now, Jenny.  You've got to get this."

I've got to get this?  Somebody tell me that this is just a normal thoughtless snotty teenager comment and I should not be taking this personally.  I am forcing myself to remember what an asshole I was at thirteen.  This is not personal.  I must have a very short fuse these days.  After all, I am the one who has been talking to him about making sure he's got fruit and veggies in there with whatever else he's shoveling in.  I've been the one trying to remind Chris that while he and I don't need to be eating this crap, we are going to have to keep food in the house for his teenager.  Yes, he has Ramen and frozen pizzas, but he also has tons of veggies and fresh bread.  Here, look at today:

Ant comes in from skating with his friend and informs me that they are here to eat pudding.

"How about you eat lunch first, THEN you have pudding."

They make sandwiches and I hear Ant in the kitchen asking Ruben what kind of fruit he wants.  Uh-huh, that's right, that came from me.

After discussing his food intake the other night, I looked up the current recommendation for daily servings of fruits and veggies.  What I read said the new plan is 5-13, depending on obvious factors.  Good grief.

Jennyway, goddammit.  Why am I the perpetual stick in the mud, uncool wicked stepmother?  Even when an issue like this one arises where I am clearly championing his cause, I get slapped down so carelessly?  Ugh.  You should have seen him on the walk tonight, all surly and whiny.  He said he couldn't walk because his knee hurt, so why did he ask to bring his skateboard?  You don't use your knees to skateboard?

"You use them in a different way, and it doesn't hurt," he informed me.

Ok, well...

"So hey, that movie you weren't able to watch doesn't have to go back tonight- you can still watch it."

"I don't want to watch it.  It looks cheesy."

Ok...

Karma is a nasty creature.  I was a horrible child.  No, I was a horrible teenager.  No, I was a teenager.

I wondered how Mom endured my adolescence.  There were some horrified looks, I remember, and then she would just carry on as well as possible.  So that's what I did.

We were almost home before any of my attempts worked.  I said we had enough time to watch something short with dinner.  Then he finally got animated and suggested The Cleveland Show.  He said he likes it better than Family Guy because he understands it better.  He said it's intelligent and asked me if I'd seen it.  I said I had and he started chattering about the show.  Inside, I reheated spaghetti and asked him what veggie he wanted.  He always wants peas.  Chris is very anti-pea due to their lack of enough nutritional content, so we can only eat them on nights when he's gone.

When dinner was ready, Ant came in to fix his "bowl plate," as he has decided they must be called, and said thank you.  I stayed in the kitchen to wait for the steamy peas as Ant set up the show.  I served myself a small bowl and gave him the serving bowl.

"Peas and thank you," he said.

This is not a horrible teenager.  This is a normal teenager.  He has a mouth that functions faster than his developing brain, he is part vacuum, and has snowshoes for feet.  He's still sweet, still silly, still friendly and warm and helpful and kind, just wrapped in a body that is growing gangly and run by a brain going haywire.  That's not me being mean, that's science.  It is fascinating to learn what happens to the adolescent brain.

After dinner, while I'm in here typing out my frustrated confusion, he comes in post-shower to say goodnight.  He hugs me and tells me he loves me.  There was nothing personal or spiteful in his comment, just a cheerful statement of fact: I am a teenager, Jenny.  Get used to it.