I was at a complete loss the other morning. Toby stood in the front room, sobbing and screaming, “I’m HUNGRY,” over and over. I knew he needed food. I’d opened and stirred a container of yogurt, putting it at his place at the table. I was making pancakes and sausage to go with it. But I just couldn’t get him to actually move and start to ingest it.

He’d gotten out of bed with his grump on full blast after a night of “monster nightmares.” And, I didn’t realize it at the time, but the night before, he hadn’t liked the flavor of the rice I’d made as a side dish, so he’d been on an unintentional keto diet for 12 hours. Minimal sleep and no carbs did not add up to a sane, rational Toby. He’d shriek, “I’m hungry,” and I’d simply say, “Then go sit down and eat!” I was at a loss.

Then John swooped in. He grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen, unwrapped it, and shoved it into Toby’s mouth mid-scream. Toby chewed and swallowed, then took another bite. He inhaled the bar in about 10 seconds, and stopped screaming. After a few more bites, he quietly sat down at his place, downed the rest of the bar and a container of yogurt, then demolished three link sausages wrapped with pancakes. Then, and only then, did the Toby I know show up.

Living with two males who have the metabolism of a hummingbird has its challenges. It’s more like living with velociraptors at times. The hangry is real, and apparently it’s genetic. Toby recently told us that his favorite holiday is Thanksgiving, “because there’s so much food.” When he was a toddler, and daycare sent him home with a sheet chronicling his activities, I remember a few times notes appeared in the margins marveling at the amount of food he’d ingested.

I myself have the metabolism of a sloth. I very rarely actually get hungry, and when I do, I am always able to function normally despite the pangs in my stomach and the urge to consume calories. I had no concept that a human being could morph into a raging, irrational beast just because they need to eat. It took me years of dating John to figure out that his mood was inextricably linked to his blood sugar, and I’m still amazed at the speed with which the hangry can rear its velociraptor head.

Toby is both lucky and doomed to have inherited John’s supersonic metabolism and ability to consume ridiculous amounts of food. If this propensity continues, he’ll be just like John in his capacity to devour 5,000 greasy calories a day and still lose weight. But he’ll also have to learn to handle the hangry, and given how the hangry still manipulates John on a daily basis and how clueless I am about hangry, I’m not optimistic that he’ll effectively tame the inner velociraptor.

Traveling with the two of them this summer was a challenge. One morning, when we left the Outer Banks just after dawn, our trek down the road toward any kind of civilization was punctuated with Toby saying every three minutes, “I thought you said we were going to get breakfast.” And on our #weekinthecartogether voyage, I had to strategically plan our relatively remote route down Skyline Drive around both scenic outlooks and acceptable restaurants.

I’m the kind of person who can pretty much wait until a promising-looking establishment comes along. They… are not. They’re beasts that must be fed on a very regular schedule. I feel like there should be an app for route-creation that includes timely velociraptor feeding. Until there is, I’ll continue my strategy of keeping Goldfish and granola bars in the car to fling to them when the situation gets dicey.

I am lucky in that Toby is an equal opportunity eater, thank god. The things he won’t eat are few and far between, and he’s perfectly happy with a relatively healthy menu on a daily basis. He definitely has his favorites, and while he ate the same flavor of Chobani yogurt for the past three years (a flavor that’s blended, not-fruit-on-the-bottom), he’s branched out to a few other flavors as well recently. I just have to stir them up before he sees them, so he can pretend they’re not fruit-on-the-bottom. This little mental trick might have come from me, as I can only eat meat that doesn’t involve a bone. You know, so I can pretend an animal wasn’t harmed. Genetics are weird.

Toby’s dinners usually involve adult-size portions, and it’s rare he doesn’t finish them. He sometimes asks for more, especially if pasta is involved. He’s six. They say teenage boys eat like ravenous wolves. I am a bit worried about my grocery budget.

He’s also not too worried about variety. I’ve packed him pretty much the same lunch every day for the year and a half he’s attended school. He’s totally happy with that plan, and usually says no if I ask if he wants to change it up for a day. For breakfast, he alternates between three different options. Or, if it’s a hangry morning, he eats all three options in one sitting.