It is spring break, so my brain is officially mush. The teens can smell the weakness I’m emitting.
But right now, three out of four of the offspring are passed out in their beds. The fourth – who is actually the fourth – has slothed her way to the sofa to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Eventually, though, she got hungry. Maybe it was the smell of my freshly brewed coffee that awoke a hunger in her. But either way, she schluffed from the sofa into the kitchen, pulled out bread and the jar of Nutella, and did her interpretive dance that says “Mom, make me a sammich.”
I didn’t want to make a sammich. I was sitting down, with my laptop and coffee.
“Why don’t you just eat some of the pizza in the fridge?” I suggested. Because cold pizza for breakfast is a family tradition.
Maura seemed to like this idea, and pulled out the pizza box. She tried to walk out of the kitchen with all the leftover pizza.
“Maura, no, just take one piece.”
“Fine.” She put the pizza box on the counter and went back into the fridge to pull out the 2 liter of rootbeer I got to go with said pizza last night.
“No Maura, it is too early for soda.”
I got up and took the 2 liter from her. She balked. “It’s too early.” I stated again, putting it in the fridge.
She lunged for the fridge. I found myself splayed across the fridge doors doing my own “Nooo!” right back. Because this is what my life has become – guarding the refrigerator like the Crown Jewels, begging teens to not eat every damn thing in there.
Maura then went over to the counter and banged the jar of Nutella.
“Want me to just make you a sandwich?” I said with a sigh of defeat.
Maura left the kitchen to return to her couch slothing to TMNT and I made the damn sammich that I should have just made in the first place.
And I’m still trying to drink my coffee.