Bacon and eggs and other tales from Snarkfest

Hey Snarklings. Let me tell you a little story. A few years back, I received a phone call while sitting at my desk working and it was 16 (who at the time was probably 14). Apparently, 14 (who at the time was probably 12) came home from her PT appointment and made herself bacon and eggs. Now, before you go getting all ‘oooh, you should NEVER let your children use the stove unsupervised’ on me, understand that this was NOT something that 14 has EVER done before. Have we allowed her to cook eggs, soup, or God forbid Ramen noodles alone? Yes but we’re usually somewhere in the house when she’s doing it.  But bacon? Nope, this is a first for 14. One thing you need to know about 14 is that she is an aspiring chef. No shit.  14 spends more time watching Food Network than Nickelodeon (unless, of course, One Direction is on, then Bobby Flay can go pound salmon cakes up his butt).  She’s gotten different tips, ideas and suggestions from Food Network and she really has made some cool creations. She even texted me a picture of a salad she made while at her grandma’s house. So I wasn’t horribly bothered by her bacon-cooking. But I can’t say the same for 16.

16 was suffering from bacon and egg envy.

Back to the phone call. 16 says “Mom, 14 came home from PT and made herself bacon and eggs and I asked her if she’d make me some and she won’t.” Now imagine me, sitting at my desk with a room full of interns to my left and a room full of my boss to my right. I just stared, unbelieving, at the phone thinking “think fast rabbit….” I told 16 to put 14 on the phone. When 14 got on, I said in my most terse, stern and quietly furious voice, “make your sister bacon. Don’t ask me why, just make her the bacon. Because I said so.” As the whining and arguing and ‘but why can’t she make it herself’ laments went on and on, I hung up on her. After a few moments, after calming myself down and taking a few breaths, I texted her: “Because she is your sister and u love her. You are the one who loves to cook.” To which 14 shot right back: “It’s bacon! I could heat it up in the microwave if I wanted to! That’s not even real cooking!!!” I believe the second and third exclamation points weren’t necessary but I digress. I replied: “Then show her how.”
14’s response? “This should be fun.”

I’m envisioning 14 in a red cape, devil horns and a pitchfork, with the flame all the way up telling 16, ‘put your face closer to the pan, smell the bacon frying, feel the heat from the grease, don’t be a sissy, get right in there! You wanted to learn!’ And in my sick imagination, I see 16’s contacts melting to her eyeballs as popping grease shoots up and hits her face like bullets. But I hoped for the best, and I did not hear the fire department sound any alarms so I can only assume that no houses were burned to the ground in the making of bacon at my house.

But wait, there’s more.

A few days later in our little burg there was a water main break, and we received word that there was a ‘boil water advisory’ in effect until further notice. Sweet. I had 2 cups of coffee, showered and brushed my teeth in that unboiled water, since I didn’t get that little slice of info until I got to work. Once again, I was at my desk when my phone rang and I saw that it was 14. I counted to 937 and answered it in my most pleasant, quiet, calm mommy voice. “Mom, can my bestie come over and help me clean my room? It’s okay with bestie’s parents. And then after my room is clean, bestie’s parents will come get us and take us to their house.”

“No, clean your own room.” I said, trying NOT to attract attention to the fact that I was, once again, talking with one of my children on a personal call. “But mom…. blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…..etc”

“Fine, do what you need to do. I’m tired of fighting with you. And make sure you and 16 don’t drink any water. There’s a boil water advisory happening.” I relented.

“I know, the township called and told us. But I really want a drink of water. Can I boil some and then put it in the refrigerator?” asked my adorable 14.

Now, while the idea of my 14 year old daughter cooking bacon wasn’t something I found to be terribly, horribly frightening, the idea of my 14 year old daughter boiling water, then putting it in a glass and putting the glass in the fridge to cool off scared the bejeezus out of me. I could not contain my displeasure in my response.

“Absolutely not.”

“But why not? I want a drink of water!” 14 pleaded. Now, I try to get my kids to drink water, I really do. I never keep soda in the house. We have milk, we have juice, we have Mio, we have Gatorade and we have lemonade mix. That day, and for the first time in her entire life, she NEEDED a drink of water. She proceeded to hound and beg me to allow her to boil a pot of water so she could have a drink in 2 hours when it’s cool enough to drink. Jesus, by the time it’s cool enough to drink, the water main will be fixed and she could just turn on the damn tap.

“NO. I’m not going to argue with you, my answer is NO. Period. The end.” I said through clenched teeth.

“Mommy, you sound angry. Is everything alright?”

Ya think???? I need to remember that this is my youngest baby daughter, the one I love, the one I adore, the one I’m going to sell to the gypsies if she doesn’t stop calling me at work to ask me for a drink of freaking water.

It is, indeed, true. God made babies cute so we wouldn’t leave them on a church doorstep with a note. But you can only carry cute so far. 14 years is a long time to carry cute. I’m thinking the statute of limitations on cute may just be nearing its end in my house.