“We Never Have Food in This House!”

Send Help. I’m About to Lose It.

Forget white sand and spa days—I fantasize about living in a peaceful cabin in the middle of nowhere, just far enough away that I can’t hear the kids yell, “There’s no food in this house!”
…while staring directly into a fully stocked pantry.

You know—the same pantry I just spent half the day shopping for and restocking like a grocery store elf on double overtime.

Apparently, if there aren’t any artificially flavored neon-orange chips or grab-and-go meals with enough preservatives to survive a nuclear winter, our pantry is officially “empty.”

And just when I think my ears can’t take another whiny complaint, I get hit with:
“This house is a joke.”

A joke.

That’s rich, considering this “joke” of a house has kept them alive for YEARS—with electricity, indoor plumbing, working Wi-Fi, and home-cooked meals with actual vegetables. The nerve.

Let me walk you through how we got here…

Step 1: Mom Makes an Effort

Me, cheerfully:
“Hey everyone, I’m heading to the store—anyone need anything? Want anything?”

Them:
“No.”
“I can’t think of anything.”
Or complete silence. Maybe a shrug if I’m lucky.

Sometimes they even come with me. I beg them to walk the aisles and pick out what they want. They come back with… absolutely NOTHING.

Fast forward twelve hours:
“Didn’t you just go shopping?”

Oh, I’m sorry—was I supposed to read your mind and grab the magical unicorn-approved snack that only appears when Mercury is in retrograde and you're in the mood to be nice to your mother?

Step 2: Mom Buys Real Food

I cook. I shop the perimeter of the store like every health blog says to do. I read labels. I try. I care.

Sometimes I even throw in something with a science-lab-worthy ingredient list just to satisfy the teenage cravings.

But apparently, if I don’t buy exactly what they were in the mood for that specific day, I didn’t actually buy food.

Step 3: The Verbal Attacks Begin

Forget gratitude. Forget manners.

What I get instead is some Pulitzer-worthy teenage poetry like:
“There’s literally nothing to eat.”
“We’re living like homeless people.”

I don’t know—maybe because you didn’t tell me what you wanted when I asked, and you didn’t pick anything out when you came with me.

Make it make sense.

Step 4: I Question Everything

At what point did my children become blind to actual food?

When did a fridge full of fresh groceries become invisible unless it included pizza rolls and artificially flavored snack bars?

We’ve done everything we can to give them a good life—dance classes, swimming lessons, MMA, museum trips, pets, playdates, Wi-Fi, warm beds, running water, and the occasional chocolate croissant.

And still… somehow…
I am the villain.
In the long-running teen drama called:
“There’s Nothing to Eat in This House.”

Final Step: I Consider Faking My Own Disappearance

Do I love my kids? Yes.
Would I die for them? Also yes.
Do I want to scream into a pillow and check into a hotel with room service and no one calling this house a joke?
Absolutely.

But the truth is… this is the teen phase.

It’s eye rolls. It’s sarcasm. It’s nothing-is-ever-good-enough-don’t-even-look-at-me-right-now energy.

And one day, they’ll look back and remember the fridge they claimed was always empty.
The dinners they rolled their eyes at.
The house they thought was a joke.

And maybe—just maybe—they’ll realize that Mom wasn’t the problem.

She was the whole damn hero.

P.S.
If you’re currently hiding in your car to eat a snack in peace, or staring into your fridge wondering how your teenagers became so ungrateful…
You’re not alone.
Solidarity, friend. We’ll survive this phase. (Probably.)