M and the flying pasta monster

I really don’t know what I expected. I should’ve guessed that M didn’t do his homework, AGAIN, at all. The assignment that was due Monday, worth 30 points. The one I ran to OfficeMax for, over my lunch break.

So, when, after he had told me he was going to work on it, for 2 hours, and showed up at dinner time with nothing done, I was pissed. And he was argumentative.

And he wanted dinner. RIGHT NOW. Make it himself. Nachos. (cheese and chips). When I explained that there were no significant protein or vegetables, he said he’d add those. When I explained he’d give up his Friday dinner choice, he wasn’t having any of that. BECAUSE I NEED TO EAT RIGHT NOW.

“We’re having pasta.”

“I don’t want pasta.”

“It’s not your night to pick.”


“Whatever kind is in the freezer, that I cook in the pan.”


“M, it’s whatever I bought. I don’t remember.”


“That’s what we’re having,” I say, pulling out the freezer.


I angrily tossed a bag of pasta to him. He did not catch it.

“I’M OUT OF HERE. JESUS.” *storms out door* “YOU DON’T HAVE TO THROW THINGS AT ME.” (to friends outside:) “HE’S THROWING THINGS AT ME.”

(friends heard the whole discussion)

“M, I did not throw it at you. Do you want me to throw it at you so that you know what that’s like?”


Whizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. BANG.

“There, how’d you like having things thrown AT you.”

(he laughs and starts walking away. Friend starts crying.)

“See what you did? You dented the garage door.”

“Nope. I didn’t. That was like that. One of you kids hit it a while ago. Is-, you need to go home. I don’t need you getting in more trouble with your mom.”

(more friend crying. Is’s little brother, D, says “what was this all about?”)

“M decided he wanted chips and cheese for dinner.”

Is-, now no longer sobbing: “That’s not dinner!”

“M, I’ll finish cooking dinner, but you need to work on homework.”

“I’m not doing homework. Why should I. I have summer school.”

“If you’re going to be part of this family, you need to do what needs to be done. If not, you can leave. Those are your choices.”

“So, you want me to go back down to the library?”

“Sure, and I’ll come with you.”

“NO. I will do it myself.”

“No, I’ll come with you. How can I trust you? You said you were going to do it and didn’t. Again.”


(starting to get angry again)

D: “I’ll go with him and I’ll tell you if he doesn’t do it.”

Is: “He will. D doesn’t lie about stuff like that and always keeps us accountable.”

Me: “Fine. Be back at 8:30. Get it done. I will still have dinner waiting for you.”


8:30. M walks in the door. Is and D are with him. (Is isn’t allowed to hang out with M). Is asks to use the bathroom, D asks for a drink. All are winded from the walk from the park. “Did you get it done?” I ask… Expecting the correct answer was my mistake.

“I got some of it done. I got two poems typed. I saved them though.”

“Where? They don’t save what’s on the library computers.”

“Yes they do. They were still there. They’ll be there tomorrow.”

“What happens when they aren’t?”

“Then I’ll have to type them over again.”

“Why didn’t you just print them? You had the money.”

“I forgot.”

(at this point, I gave up. I had a conference call and needed to round him up for bed.)

I should now be known as the Flying Penne Monster. I sacrificed my dinner to prove a point. (M and T got to eat… and they both said it was good.)

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