You know ...when your teenager wakes up at noon, in the summertime and he is smiling. Yeah...that never happens.
Blue comes downstairs to the kitchen with mom's laptop in hand and places it on the counter. He opens the refrigerator and freezer doors --looks for what seems like eternity, as if something new is going to suddenly appear.
"Oh, Thank you for bringing me my laptop," says Mom as she starts to pick it up.
"I didn't bring that for you! That's not fair! You can't use it."
"Um...excuse me. I can't use my own laptop. Surely, you're mistaken. I will think about letting you use it after you get your breakfast."
Moments later, he finally decides on pancakes and sausage. He begins the process of making Bisquick (in a bottle) pancakes. First he pours in the milk. I taught him to use milk, not water. It makes them taste a little better.
He grumbles, "Ugghh!!! I always pour too much milk! It's past the line."
"No worries. It usually needs a little extra milk anyway," I say.
Next he attempts to put in a tablespoon of raw sugar. Some of it spills onto the counter.
"Ugghh! I'm always spilling everything!"I come over and pick up the bisquik bottle. I pick up the same spoon, tilt the head of the bottle over the sugar container and spoon in the sugar.
"You see this way, if you spill any. It goes back into the container."
He frowns and rolls his eyes. "I need the vanilla!"
"You do? That's nice." She's unsure if this is a demand, a request, or just general information. Surely, it couldn't be a request with the tone of voice that he is using.
"Well...do we have any?"
"Yes we do. It's in the pantry."
He gets it out of the pantry. He starts to pour the vanilla into the cap of the vanilla bottle. I stop him in his tracks, attempting to avoid another disaster. I pour it for him.
I can sympathize with his grumpiness, in part because I have a bit PMS myself. I've been especially grumpy for the past few days. In fact, if had this personality all month, I wouldn't like myself very much.
Blue is stomping and grunting at every possible turn ...fussing about anything and everything.
"I'm going to record you, so you can hear how grumpy you sound."
"This is private!!!"
"Yes...you're right. It's my own private hell. Thank you very much."
He tries to open the sausage package. He can't get it open fast enough.
"I can't do this! I give up!" He storms around the kitchen huffing and puffing.
"Can't you just do this for me?!" he says in a nasty, directive tone.
"Um...if you can just change your tone and speak to me respectfully. I'll be glad to help you."
He is perfectly capable of doing this himself, but in his agitated frame of mind, I know it will only go from bad to worse. Once he corrects his tone and asks nicely, I agree to take over for him. No...we can not work together. That would be a disaster.
Finally, I finish up and he sits down at the table to eat. The attitude slowly creeps back up.
"This food is really escalating me! I hate this syrup! It pours too fast!"
Yeah...that was my attempt at cutting out high fructose corn syrup. I bought authentic, very expensive maple syrup. Of course, he hates it. He is used to Mrs. Buttersworth.
He moans and groans showing contempt for the meal that I helped him prepare. The angrier he gets the more problems he seems to have.
"You know...when you fight with the food it has a tendency to fight back!" I say and laugh at my own joke. The grumpy teenager is not amused.
He finally finishes eating. He takes his paper plate and throws it into the trash can. As he storms out of the kitchen he says, "If this kitchen were a restaurant...I'd only give this breakfast 2 stars!"
"Wow! Well that's rude. I tell you what...next time I won't help you at all."
"No! I didn't mean you. I meant the kitchen ...like if this were a restaurant."
"Yeah...but I am the cook in this restaurant."
"Well...that's not what I meant!" he yells. "You turn around everything that I say!"
Yeah...sure. I turn it around.
He finally goes up the stairs and his phone rings. He yells down the stairs, this time his voice actually sounds a little more pleasant.
Yeah...sure. I turn it around.
He finally goes up the stairs and his phone rings. He yells down the stairs, this time his voice actually sounds a little more pleasant.
"J is on the phone. He wants\ to know if you can drop us off at the movies later."
Meanwhile, I make myself a few pancakes and warm up the now room temperature sausage. Mmm mmm! Delicious! I enjoy my breakfast in peace. In fact ..I give the meal 4 stars, including and especially, the expensive, 100% pure maple syrup.
