Sometimes, a parent needs to take bold steps to reclaim their sanity. My children’s responses varied from disbelief to confusion as they read the sign I had placed on our fridge. Watching the turmoil unfold, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me.
While I had often imagined leaving for a grand adventure—maybe hiking the Pacific Crest Trail or embarking on a soul-searching journey akin to “Eat, Pray, Love”—that wasn’t the message I shared that day. That Monday, I made a different choice: I temporarily shut down the kitchen and embraced the relief that followed.
I cherish the 2-3 evenings each week when we gather as a family to savor a meal I’ve prepared with care. On other nights, we often find ourselves munching on sandwiches during our hurried trips to kids’ sports practices. I jokingly refer to this quick fix as “whatever-is-on-hand.” Family dinners typically involve sharing highlights of our day, compliments, and a semblance of civility—though these moments seem to be fading.
The Chaos of Family Dinners
Maintaining proper etiquette at the dinner table has become a challenge in our family of six. Few would believe the extent of chaos that can erupt during our meals. Dinner often begins with siblings interrupting one another, followed by a hilarious incident of flatulence that one child proudly claims to have minimized. Another child inevitably shouts, “Who’s serving milk tonight?” while the designated milk server either whines or performs an impromptu dance to attract attention. And of course, there’s always one child who needs to be excused for a bathroom break—a clever tactic.
My partner and I have tried various strategies, from letting them leave the table early to assigning speaking turns. We’ve even introduced consequences like skipping dinner or taking on extra chores to restore some order. Despite our exhaustion, we’ve exhausted every trick in the “Parenting with Love and Logic” playbook, but that particular night, nothing worked.
A Memorable Sunday Dinner
I distinctly remember serving spaghetti that Sunday. My husband and I demonstrated how to twirl small bites on forks, but our kids dug in with the enthusiasm of a pack of wild animals. We warned them that such table manners would hinder their dating prospects, but they were unfazed. In fact, the sight of our youngest hilariously dancing while excused to serve milk had us both stifling laughter and tears, leaving me feeling like a parenting failure. With my frustration palpable, my husband ended dinner abruptly, and I took off for a long walk in the woods, planning not to return until the dishes were done or the kids were off to college. Looking back, I should have just embarked on that long-desired hike.
Going on Strike
The following morning, I posted a new sign: “Mom’s Kitchen Closed Until Further Notice.” I was officially on strike due to their disruptive dinner behavior and wore a smile reminiscent of a carefree traveler. My elementary-age kids were incredulous when they discovered I wouldn’t be making lunches. My older two, feeling unaffected, packed their own meals as if it were second nature.
The reality hit during dinner that evening. “What’s for dinner?” my famished sons asked. “Beats me!” I replied. “There’s nothing to eat!” my daughter exclaimed, to which I responded with a nonchalant, “Bummer!” My 10-year-old took initiative, crafting his “famous” lunchmeat sandwich while my 7-year-old begged his 12-year-old sibling to teach him how to make oatmeal.
I delighted in the teamwork that unfolded as I sipped a glass of cabernet and read the news. My daughter whipped up a gourmet egg sandwich like a seasoned pro. As the days passed, I pondered how long they could survive on oatmeal. My youngest even suggested buying McDonald’s with his own money. By the third day, the kids were tired of their limited options and opted for cereal instead. While I’m no culinary expert—I reluctantly took on the cooking role for the sake of our children—I usually offered a bit more variety.
Interestingly, my husband, who could thrive on junk food, seemed to be the most affected by my absence in the kitchen, lacking the motivation to prepare nutritious meals. I encouraged him to express how much he missed my cooking, allowing the kids to see me preparing a meal, which prompted them to take action. By the end of the week, they learned to grill their own sandwiches.
The Return to Normalcy
Honestly, I could have continued this strike indefinitely. However, with a cousin visiting, I felt compelled to prepare a proper meal. I challenged the kids to behave respectfully during dinner, which they surprisingly managed—except for the moment they were asked to say grace in front of their minister cousin, a whole other source of embarrassment. There were no antics, just polite laughter and gratitude shared around the table, and I sighed with relief.
After a week, I removed the sign. I like to think it left a lasting impression. My husband has returned to his co-parenting duties, the children have taken on the responsibility of preparing Sunday dinners, and I’ve regained some peace and respect in the household. Still, I can’t help but dream of a getaway every now and then.
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In summary, my decision to stop cooking for my family led to unexpected teamwork and responsibility among my children. The chaos at the dinner table transformed into moments of laughter and respect, ultimately fostering a healthier family dynamic.