I am convinced my teenagers have a black hole in their stomachs. There is no other logical explanation for the way food vanishes in this house. I go grocery shopping, unload the bags, and before I can even put my keys down, the snacks have disappeared. It is like living with a pack of highly skilled snack thieves.
I have tried hiding things. I have buried the good cookies under a bag of kale in the fridge. I have tucked the fancy granola bars behind the cleaning supplies. I have even stashed emergency chocolate in my sock drawer. It does not matter. They have a sixth sense for snacks. They will dig through cabinets like treasure hunters, unearth a single forgotten chip, and act like they have discovered gold.
They do not even eat like normal humans. They inhale food. A family-size bag of pretzels should last a week. It lasts fifteen minutes. A fresh batch of muffins disappears overnight. I once watched my son eat an entire sleeve of crackers while staring blankly at his phone. He did not even realize he was eating them.
If I mention how quickly they go through food, they look at me with wide innocent eyes. "We barely eat anything," they claim. Meanwhile, I find an empty ice cream carton hidden behind the cereal boxes like a crime scene cover-up.
At this point, I have accepted my fate. I will never have snacks for more than 24 hours. I am just along for the ride. And if I ever want to enjoy a cookie in peace, I better eat it in my car before I walk inside.