Frustration, I know thee well

Mark, like most teenagers, prefers that his food is an awesome combination of high sugar, high fat, and low nutrients. If he could, he'd eat donuts for every meal.

But as his mom, that presents some (okay, MANY) issues for me, which can all be summed up in one word: NO.

I needed a way to get more vitamins and minerals into that kid. For a while, he drank healthy breakfast shakes, which worked pretty well. But with Mark, all favorite foods have a shelf life--it typically expires the day after I buy the supersized box of his latest food obsession at Costco (oh, hello, giant box of Ritz crackers in my pantry!).

Fruit smoothies also worked in the past, so I circled back around on those. I purchased an inexpensive single-serve blender (knowing he'll likely resist, leaving it unused, so no Ninja this time, Kelley). 

I visited the farmer's market, filling up with Mark's favorites fruits, and the local health food store for protein powder.

And so, organic seasonal fruit in hand, I turned on the blender. I started with fresh peaches, ripe red strawberries, a small scoop of vanilla ice cream and a dash of milk. (Yes, I used ice cream. On a diabetic kid. For breakfast. If you have a better idea, please come feed my kid.) 

The protein powder can said to add two scoops, but I went with one. No sense turning Mark off at the beginning of this new era if the protein was gross.

Which it was. I added a few more berries, but there was still a weird aftertaste. I stuck a straw in the shake and prayed Mark didn't notice.

But of course he did (why am I always surprised?).

"This is amazing, Mom! Thanks for making me such an awesome, healthy shake!" Mark said (in my head).

"BLECH!" Mark said, in real life, wiping his tongue on a napkin. "Disgusting! What's in here?"

"Just finish it," I sighed. "It's my first one, give me a break."

He eventually did finish it, 30 minutes later, after a running dialogue on how gross it was, and how he hated it, and man, I must really hate him, and do I really have to finish the whole thing or can this just be enough? Seriously, because I am soooooooo full, and I might throw up, and I can't finish this, and I don't even care if I'm late to school, because did I mention I. HATE. THIS. SHAKE?

Fine. I got it. He hated the shake. He hated ice cream. Duly noted, I told him, which put a little fear in his eyes, as he imagined a home without ice cream evermore.

So the next day I made a smoothie.

"What do you want in it?" I asked. "Peaches, strawberries, apples, bananas? Oranges? Cherries?"

"Mangoes," he answered. 

"You aren't gonna make this easy, are you?" I said. "I don't have any mangoes."

"I only like mangoes," he answered.

So I made an executive decision. Strawberries, peaches and an orange. And then we sat, same as yesterday, Mark gagging and whinging, me sighing and realizing I'd be late for work again.

"Did you put in protein powder?" he asked, eyeing the smoothie.

"No powder," I said.

"Did you put in milk?" he asked.

"No milk," I answered. "Fruit only. A true smoothie."

"I don't like strawberries," Mark insisted, pushing the smoothie away.

"You eat them straight off the strawberry plant in the backyard!" I reminded him.

"I only like them fresh," he insisted.

"These were picked yesterday," I said.

"I hate strawberries," he repeated.

I may throttle you, I thought. Silence seemed the best tact at this point.

"Let him make his own," my brother Scott advised. "That's the whole point--he'll drink it if he chooses the ingredients."

"He chose ice cream, chocolate sauce, and Butterfingers," I said. "For breakfast. He doesn't get the point!"

By Thursday, Mark choked down three different smoothies, complaining about each one. On Friday, I gave up, serving him buttered toast, his favorite. It was all carbs and no nutritional value--he was thrilled.

"Best breakfast all week!" he gloated, so I gave him an extra large serving of milk to shut him down.

By Sunday, my three baskets of strawberries were looking decidedly more ripe than perky. I hated wasting them, so I froze them, thinking they'd make awesome smoothies.

I chopped the berries up and bagged individual servings. I put one serving in a bowl, and gave it to Mark, lazily eating his breakfast on the couch.

"I hate strawberries," he said, ignoring the bowl.

"I know," I said. "You can eat these, or eat a bowl of cherries. The cherries are amazing."

"Fine," he said. "I'll eat the strawberries."

I returned to the kitchen and put the sealed strawberry packets into the freezer. Just as I added the last one, Mark called out from the couch.

"Are there any strawberries left?" he asked.

I sighed, and reminded myself again not to throttle him. I'd been begging him to eat those damn berries all week, and now he wanted them??

"Of course," I said, through gritted teeth. I pulled out the closest packet of berries, cut it open and dumped it into the bowl. 

"Enjoy," I told Mark. He smiled.

I'm trying, I really am. But I'm running out of patience. Which is why, if you see Mark drenched in smoothie, you don't need to ask him what happened--just ask him what flavor smoothie that is. (Hint: It's probably strawberry.)