The phrase I dread most is “what’s for dinner?” I often hear this question echoing through the house before I’ve even opened my eyes in the morning. It baffles me why my children assume that my first thought upon waking is what I’ll be cooking for them twelve hours later. Especially since I’ve made it abundantly clear that I am finished (F-I-N-I-S-H-E-D, finished) with the act of cooking for them.
Here’s the truth: I’ve stopped preparing meals for my kids. Before you raise any alarms, let me elaborate. I’m still providing food, just no longer preparing it for them.
Cooking has never been my forte. In my single days, I was content with cereal or frozen pizzas for every meal. However, once I had a family, I realized that wouldn’t suffice anymore. I tried my best for years to fulfill that role.
Unfortunately, motherhood didn’t transform me into a culinary expert. As a working mom, I needed quick, easy recipes that children would actually eat, so I turned to Google and Pinterest for help. I experimented with freezer meals, slow cookers, and meal rotation plans. I even sought my kids’ input and got them involved in the kitchen.
Despite my efforts, as my kids grew older and our schedules became increasingly hectic, dinnertime turned into a greater challenge. On the rare occasions when I mustered the energy to try a new recipe, it either went wrong or someone in the family didn’t enjoy the meal.
After years of stressing about dinner, I had a revelation. Why was it solely my duty to provide dinner? My partner didn’t seem concerned about the kids’ meals. If he wasn’t worried about cooking, why had I accepted that responsibility without question? Yes, I had assumed that role early in our marriage, but that didn’t mean I had to maintain it indefinitely. We both worked full-time and disliked cooking; there was no reason I should shoulder this alone. In fact, one of our sons had developed better cooking skills than I ever could claim and enjoyed the process.
Moreover, our children were no longer toddlers. They were teenagers who managed just fine when left on their own. They could whip up pasta, mac and cheese, and scrambled eggs—pretty much everything in my limited recipe book.
So, I gathered everyone in the living room and made a bold announcement: moving forward, if I chose to cook for myself, I would be happy to make enough for everyone. However, if they didn’t like what I prepared, they needed to fend for themselves. I’d ensure there were food options in the house, but I wouldn’t be putting together a special meal just for them anymore. While they still inquire about dinner, I think it’s become a habit at this point. My typical response now is, “I don’t know; what’s Dad making?” or “I don’t know; what will you make?”
After all, give a kid a bowl of spaghetti, and they eat for a day. Teach them to boil their own water, and they eat for a lifetime.
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In summary, I’ve decided to relinquish the role of family cook to promote independence among my teenagers, transforming the family dinner dynamic and reducing stress in our household.