Before my partner and I became parents, mealtime was an experience to savor. We enjoyed grilling succulent pork stuffed with tangy feta, and I took pride in crafting homemade Alfredo sauce to accompany fresh pasta. Weekend brunches featured delicate crepes and freshly squeezed orange juice, perfectly complemented with a splash of champagne. Cooking was my passion, and I envisioned continuing this culinary adventure with our family dinners. However, I soon found myself in over my head.
Dinner Prep (aka Mayhem)
It’s 4 PM, and hunger pangs hit hard. Instead of diving right into dinner prep, I opt for a spoonful of peanut butter drizzled with chocolate sauce to stave off fainting while I chop vegetables. The scene is chaotic: one baby is gnawing on my toe while the other is throwing a full-blown tantrum, clinging to my pants as they sag. And, of course, someone inevitably needs a diaper change. As they grow older, they seem to think this is the perfect moment to dump their homework and permission slips on me. Ah, the joys of parenting.
The Menu
I still attempt to whip up gourmet meals, starting each week with high hopes. Perhaps I enjoy the challenge a bit too much. As I wander the grocery store aisles, I fantasize about preparing rack of lamb with new potatoes and sautéed beet greens. Yet, after all that effort, my children might take a single bite of potato and then ask if the beet greens are slimy. Reality strikes, and I remind myself that pasta with sauce counts as a complete meal. A bowl of macaroni and cheese surely meets their daily dairy needs. If I keep striving for those grand family dinners without relying on pre-packaged meals, by Friday evening, I won’t recognize myself.
The Dinner Hour
I dream of family dinners filled with compliments about my cooking, but we all know how that plays out. Any meal that looks unusual gets pushed around the plate, hidden under napkins, and suddenly, my kids are “sick” and can’t eat. I find that coping with their shenanigans pairs well with a glass of red wine. And if my partner dares to compare my chicken preparation to the previous week’s, I grip my fork as if it were a weapon.
I appreciate a bit of conversation, but it often involves reminding the kids to chew with their mouths closed and to stop rocking back in their chairs. When I ask about their favorite part of the day (why do I even bother?), I’m usually met with something ridiculous like, “My favorite part was watching Tommy pick his nose in science class and smearing it on the window.”
Dessert
This is when everyone suddenly springs back to life. Their “illness” has vanished, and they’re willing to eat the same dinner that moments ago was deemed inedible. I usually give them five minutes to finish their plates; if they aren’t clean by then, dessert is off the table. This creates a lovely family bonding moment, complete with more wine and tears.
Cleanup
Some nights, scraping, rinsing, and stacking plates in the dishwasher goes smoothly, while other nights, I’m left bewildered. I like to reminisce about my childhood, standing in my parents’ kitchen as an eight-year-old, hand-washing every dish. I threaten my kids with the same fate if they can’t load the dishwasher correctly (despite me showing them how 700 times), but we all know that won’t happen.
Despite the chaos, I am committed to family dinners. The complaints and hidden peas under napkins are part of what makes our family whole. It doesn’t matter what ends up on the table (or what gets gagged over); what truly counts is tuning out the outside world and just being together. Dinnertime may be chaotic, but it’s our beautiful chaos, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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