Nothing to eat? There's always Jell-O!

I loathe buying groceries. With a household of growing boys, a hungry man and one famished dog, it's impossible for the average shopper to keep up. I stock up in the produce section, pack in the meat from the butcher and don't get me started on what it takes to keep the family in healthy snacks.

Then there are the power drinks, the low-carb options and only a careless mother would ever let the cupboards run low on Marshmallow Mateys.

I get by on your standard grocery list, which consists of four gallons of milk, a couple of loaves of bread and an apple per child per day if we are to have any hope of keeping the doctor away.

Despite the list, it's only a matter of time before the food is gone and we've nothing on hand except for a bag of chips that've gone stale despite a clothespin, a taped-up box of mac and cheese that someone had the audacity to eat the cheese out of, and oh! Lest we not forget the endless supply of Jell-O brand gelatin.

That's right. It would seem that I have a phobia about running out of Jell- O. Turns out I fear on a subconscious level that something so catastrophic might occur that I may not be able to buy Jell-O, and then what? It doesn't exactly make you shudder to think, and yet anytime I round a grocer's corner, I find myself in the Jell-O section and am tossing in boxes as if it were the fabric of our lives.

It's things like that that make me loathe the grocery store. I know I can't go in for one simple item, extract it from the shelves and then leave as if the crackers didn't matter.

I can't just dash in for chili beans and ignore the fact that we need chives. And what woman worth her salt would let the family run low on pumpernickel?

Generally speaking, I can normally convince myself to actually go to the store by promising myself that I'll just snatch up a few items. Although I'm reluctant to do so, I'll grab a cart as I tell myself that it's just for hauling the milk. Then the next thing I know, I'm stacking boxes on the sides of it, arranging canned goods in the middle and making a beeping sound as I back up through the dry goods.

I've gone down no less than two aisles before I need to lean to the left to peer around the pile that is my cart and then take a gander to the right to check for traffic before I need the assistance of a fellow shopper to turn me into aisle three.

Then there's the fun of hauling the goods into the abode. On your average day, I've just barely pulled in the garage before the back door flies open. As if they have been waiting in ambush, kids run out with a manner reminiscent of the hogs racing to the slop as they call out, "Hey, Mom's been to the grocery store!"

While some women might welcome assistance in carting the wares from the trunk to the kitchen, I'd be money ahead to go it alone.

They load their arms with the sacks, tuck a few things into their pits and after that it's a free-for-all.

"I've got waffles!" one will exclaim as he peers into the bags. "That's nothing!" calls another, "she bought pizza rolls!" One will relish the opportunity to consume pickles, others the baked chips, and it's only a matter of time before someone discovers the Cheez Whiz and dispenses it directly into his mouth as he carries the rest of his load to the counter.

Long before it's made it to the kitchen and way before it's put into the cupboards, the bulk of the food is gone. Within hours, someone is bound to put his head into the empty pantry and exclaim with a cavernous echo, "We have nothing to eat!"

I'm not exactly the paragon of motherhood, but I do feel that these kids need to get past the quick fixes and ask not "What can my mom make for my company night?" but "What can I make for my people that would involve 26 boxes of Jell-O?"

That would certainly make my world come full circle.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.