Every summer when school lets out the calls begin. Without a school cafeteria to serve him up quick, nutritious lunches, my 13-year-old son finds himself lost in the pantry. Consequently, nearly every weekday around 11:30 a.m. he phones me at work.

"There's nothing to eat," he'll say.

Each time, I rattle off a list of possibilities. There's a freezer loaded with food, I say. And what about the cupboard that's stocked with canned goods or the bowl of fruit on the counter? And did I mention the yogurt, eggs and leftovers in the fridge? That's far from absolutely "nothing."

But kids live in a world of absolutes. They especially love the Land of Always and Never.

"I always have to do the dishes. He never does," says my daughter of her brother.

"She always gets to do fun stuff. I never get to do anything," says my son of his sister.

The problem is the Land of Always and Never is a great distance from the State of Reality. When my endlessly hungry son says there's nothing to eat, what he means is we're out of cereal. And "always" and "never" actually mean "sometimes."

But kids can't figure that out. There's no reasoning with them, even when I have proof.

"What about the time your brother did the dishes when you were sick?" I ask.

"Remember when you went to the water park and your sister had to work so she couldn't go?" I say.

My evidence falls on deaf ears.

Last week I challenged my son to write a grocery list to eliminate his daily dilemma of having "nothing" to eat. The list included yet more cereal, frozen pizzas and other items of convenience. Some of his requests, like expensive Lunchables, fell on my deaf ears. We have a grocery budget that's already struggling under the weight of his journey to manhood. He eats constantly and has grown two shoes sizes in just four months.

I long for the days when his hunger was quelled by a single slice of cheese sneaked from the fridge when I wasn't looking. He was one stealthy toddler. Now he's a big, bottomless pit with a nimble speed-dial finger.

For several days, our trip to the grocery store silenced his lunchtime calls. He emptied several boxes of cereal and wolfed down more bagels than should be humanly possible.

Then the calls began again.

"There's nothing to eat," he said.

"What about the pizzas still in the freezer?" I remind him.

It falls on deaf ears.

Funny how he always does this.

Parents, what do you stock your cupboards with for easy summer lunches? Share your suggestions on the Mommy Talk blog at www.wcfcourier.com/mommytalk.