I have three boys or should I say I’m the mother of three grown ass men. But, in my world they will always be boys. I call them “boys” when they’re at my house on Sunday afternoons because we get together at least once a week on a Sunday to have Sunday dinner and watch football during football season. Since I’m a single mom (yes still after 19 years of being divorced) and so I still revert to calling them boys even thought my oldest is 32 years old. Which brings me to today’s entry. My oldest lives with me, my other two live on their own. Well, they live on their own together, they share an apartment. In any case, my oldest lives with me until he can pay off his car, and hopefully find a better job that pays more so that he can finally move out and let me live alone.
Not that I mind having my eldest son live with me (much) because I love him after all there is a certain je ne sais quoi (aggravation) that he brings to my life on a daily basis. He was born into a very chaotic world, being the son of teenage parents and we (I, his dad is perpetually 19 years old) grew right along with him. But living with my son who’s in his early thirties is an adventure (disaster). He has his father’s characteristics (ugh) so he’s not the easiest going person in the world. But he has his positive traits, like I can see that although he’s still a responsible adult (living with his mom) he hasn’t lost his childish enthusiasm (warped sense of humor). On his days off he washes his clothes, cleans his room and the kitchen (sometimes) and his bathroom. He prepares for the next work day and then he takes some time to rest. But this morning we had somewhat of a disagreement (argument) about using an entire storage container for what I consider to be an ounce of food. He has my refrigerator cluttered with food containers that “contain” about two or three teaspoons of food.
Therefore leaving NO room to store other items that need the storage space in my fridge. As I was about to leave and went to grab my prepared lunch, I opened the door and three containers of food fell to the clean kitchen floor, one of those containers popped its lid and food splatted on the floor and hit the cabinet as well. Did I mention that it was the container with my lunch? No? well it was, and as I yelled out in frustration he came running out of the bathroom in his towel and said “What happened?” as I stood there pointing at the three plastic containers on the floor with one oozing out my spaghetti and meatball lunch. I told him that he needed to clean out the f***ng fridge when he got home this afternoon and throw away anything he wasn’t going to eat and that only had a tiny bit of food in it. He looked at me and said “You know, we’re throwing away food, and there are starving people in the world” and I calmly (annoyingly) said to him that what he has saved wouldn’t do much good to anyone.
And then I took out nine, NINE plastic containers from the fridge and left them on the counter and took one with a meatball, ONE f***ng meatball! I said to him “why didn’t you eat that? What’s the point of saving one freaking meatball?!?!” He said “I wasn’t going to throw that way, its wasting food.” At that moment I looked down and realized that marinara sauce had splattered onto my black suede boots. I took all the containers and gently put (threw) them into the sink and told him to clean out the fridge and throw all the food in there that’s drying up in the air they share in these storage containers. Like the ¼ of a pork chop that’s been in there for over two weeks. He looked at me and said “God mom, you’re so wasteful” and walked away back into the bathroom to dry his hair. As I took a damp cloth to wipe the red splattered sauce from my boot I thought to myself, if I lived alone this wouldn’t have happened.
If I lived alone I’d be able to walk around naked and not worry about anyone (or the cat) seeing me. Oh, did I mention that my son has a cat? He and his cat live with their mom (cat nana). I think I prefer the cat (not really, but yes really) because the cat doesn’t squirrel away bits of cat food under the couch or in the bathtubs (maybe he does who knows he may have tiny containers with one or two bits of cat food, ugh just the thought) even though I love my son to death I am just about ready for him to move on, move out and fill his own fridge with plastic containers of half eaten food that he’ll wind up throwing away no matter how he “thinks” he’s saving food.
But I realize I should cherish this time with him, because once he gets married (not holding my breath) I will see him less and less (crossing fingers). And that I may only talk to him via phone or text (perfectly fine with me) so I should be more patient (if he had his own place) and less grumpy (it’s my f***ing house) about my son living (taking up space) with me. Did I mention he has three cars? And that he’s taken over my garage with most of his workout equipment and boxes and boxes of stuff (crap)? His three cars are all in my driveway (and the side of my house) and they are all in working order. I asked him why he felt the need to have three cars (okay two cars and a truck) and he said because he could. Did I mentioned that I truly love (want to kill) my son?