The other day, I found myself grappling with some unexpected anger. It started upon waking, not too intense, but enough to notice. I brewed a cup of coffee, which usually helps me shake off those morning blues, and then I took some chicken out of the freezer. Once that chicken is thawing, you’re making a promise to your future self that dinner will happen, even before you’ve had your morning toast. And honestly? I felt a wave of resentment toward that chicken.
As I sipped my coffee, the chicken sat there, slowly defrosting on the counter, almost teasing me. “You’ve planned chicken cordon bleu for tonight. Your kiddo has been eagerly anticipating it all week. He’s been talking about it since breakfast! Get ready to stuff me with ham and cheese and roll me in breadcrumbs! Oh, and by the way, you need to start prepping me in three hours!” Ugh, chicken—can’t you just let me read my book and take a nap? My irritation only grew.
By late afternoon, I realized I might need to talk this out. So, I texted my friend, Lisa.
Me: I just have to vent… I feel irrationally angry at dinner right now.
Lisa: I’m here for you! Let it all out!
Me: Dinner is so selfish. It never cooks itself!
Lisa: Right? Totally ridiculous.
Me: I used to love cooking. Seriously! It was even in my bio at my first job!
Lisa: Haha! What would your bio read today? “At home, Jamie enjoys running, making sarcastic remarks, and avoiding her kids.” At work? “Misses her kids, makes (mostly HIPAA-compliant) sarcastic comments, and rebels against the system.”
Me: Exactly! You totally get me.
Lisa: I understand, Jamie.
That conversation made me feel a bit better, and it got me thinking about my tangled emotions regarding dinner. I really did enjoy cooking once. I’d watch cooking shows, try new recipes, and whip up meals from scratch. But then came the kids.
Let’s be real: Having kids can really shake your confidence in the kitchen. There’s nothing quite like spending an hour preparing a meal, only to have your children dissolve into tears at the table. And no, I don’t whip up separate meals for them, if you’re wondering. You’d think they’d eventually figure out that they either eat what’s served or go hungry, but after years of this, at least one of them leaves the table without eating anything. They’d rather skip dinner than face the horror of teriyaki salmon and steamed broccoli. If they do eat, it often leads to the infamous “dessert negotiation,” usually initiated by my daughter:
Her: How much more do I need to eat for dessert?
Me: All of it.
Her: (takes the tiniest bite) Can I have dessert now?
At this point in my life, I feel drained and utterly exhausted by dinner—the planning, cooking, serving, and cleaning up. Thankfully, my husband works from home, so I only have to tackle dinner duty a couple of nights a week. You’d think that would ease the tension, but nope—dinner is the real problem here. It needs to take some responsibility.
Dinner is inconsiderate, always crashing in between 5 and 7 p.m., the time when my kids lose all semblance of sanity. You’d think dinner would get the hint and give me a break during the chaos, but no. Dinner is also time-consuming, requiring endless planning, grocery shopping, and then there’s the clean-up. And let’s not even discuss how long it takes a 7-year-old to eat a quarter-cup of pasta and two leaves of lettuce.
Dinner is relentless. It demands to be prepared every single day. The more you make it, the more your family expects it. They start asking annoying questions like, “I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” leaving no room for me to pretend I was planning on serving snacks instead.
Dinner can be one of the most stressful, chaotic times of the day for a parent. It’s filled with whining, complaints, interruptions, and a whole lot of noise. I just need a break from you, dinner. This relationship is draining me. I think a few weeks of Cheerios and toast in front of the TV could do wonders for my mental health. I just need some space.
I shared my feelings with my husband, who suggested I focus on the positive aspects of family dinners. Seriously? Is he on dinner’s side?
I don’t know, dinner. Maybe one day we can find a way to coexist peacefully. But I’m not holding my breath for this decade.
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Summary
Navigating the challenges of dinner can feel overwhelming for many parents, especially when juggling kids’ preferences and meal preparations. Once a joyful experience, cooking can become a source of frustration and stress, leading to feelings of resentment. While some may find solace in focusing on the positives, it’s clear that the complexities of family dinner dynamics can weigh heavily on a mom’s mind.