Soapbox

   So I’ve got this kid…and he wanted a bologna and cheese sandwich. I mean he really wanted one! Problem was, it was 4:30 in the afternoon and I was in the middle of chopping and boiling for that night’s lasagna dinner.

    "No, it’s getting late, Stephen. Go ahead and have that cheese you got out, or you can have a slice of bread, or maybe a piece of fruit to hold you until dinner." I suggested.
    "But mom, I"m really hungry! I didn’t even have any lunch."
    "Ok, so have cheese and bread. We’ll be eating in an hour." I didn’t add that it’s hard enough to get him to eat lasagna when he doesn’t have a bologna and cheese sandwich in his stomach.
    "No, that’s not enough, Mom! Anyway, what’s the difference between cheese and bread, and a bologna and cheese sandwich?"
    "Another slice of bread and a piece of bologna. Eat your cheese or have a bananna and stop arguing with me."
     I could tell by the way he was whining that he had low blood sugar and really did need to eat, but it was too late. When his blood sugar gets low, logic goes out the window.

    His eyes filled with tears. "This is terrible! You won’t even let me have the food I need to live!" he moaned, and walked out the front door. A minute later, he came back in. "When I told you I was going to get a foster home, I meant it!" he said.
    "Really? When did you tell me that?" I asked, putting that noodles in the boiling water.
    "Remember when we were at the Lincoln Memorial this summer and you told me to shut up? I still can’t believe you so rudely mouthed-off to me! I told you then that I was going to get myself a foster home. Well, it was a warning."
    I took my teeth off my bottom lip (which I"d been biting in an effort to keep from laughing) long enough to say,
    "I’m sorry that you are so upset about this, son. Why don’t you just have something to eat and you’ll feel better and we can-"
    "That’s it. I"m out of here." The door slammed shut.
     I finished chopping the green pepper and then  walked out into the front room. Let’s see…sneakers by the chair…sandals on the stairs…boots up in the closet- well, he’s obviously barefoot, so he won’t go far. He hates walking barefoot. I put his abandoned slice of cheese in a baggie in the fridge and went back to my vegetables.

    Forty minutes later, as I was getting out plates to set the table, the door opened and my only son announced his return with the words,
     "Well, clearly you are not my real mother!"
    "Glad you’re back, Stephen. I"m sorry that you’re still upset, but I must tell you that I am so, so obviously your real mother that’d I’d know you were mine, even if I hadn’t been there when you were born."
    "Well, if you were my real mother you would have cared when I was gone and come to look for me!" he cried.
    "For goodness’ sake Stephen; you’re 10! " I said. "If you were 5, I’d have gone after you, but I thought you needed some time alone."
    "Well, I sat there in a tree at Marburn" (the local elementary school) " because it was the only place I could think of that I’m allowed to go, and you didn’t even care!"
That’s my kid: even when he runs away from home, he makes sure he obeys the rules.
    "I cared- I was just busy" I said.
    "My biological mother would be concerned for my nutritional needs!" he wailed.
    I pointed out that I had offered him food and he had refused it even though he was hungry, which meant that he was less concerned for his nutritional needs than I was. As I mentioned earlier though, logic does not reach him in situations like these.
    "It’s not enough! I can’t believe you won’t even let me have a sandwich when I need one!"
    "Will you just have a banana or a piece of honey bread or something? You know you’ll feel better, and -" His face suddenly brightened.
    "Ooh, honey bread!" He headed into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. Apparently honey was the magic word.
    Five minutes and one thick slab of honey (and peanut butter) bread later, he was chatting to me as he set the table.
    "Hey Mom, while I was over at Marburn, I was pretending that I was a secret agent, and the birds were trying to find me,  and there was this one robin that almost did…"
    That’s my kid. A little honey and Dr. Mengele turns back into good old Mom. Thank God for honey.