The Six Phases of Dinner with Kids

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Cooking for kids is no easy feat, as I’ve learned time and again. My day revolves around food—whether I’m whipping up a meal, planning the next one, shopping for ingredients, or cleaning the aftermath of my culinary efforts. Despite the three meals and one (hopefully) nutritious snack I manage to provide daily, my kids always seem to be in a state of hunger—until it’s dinner time. That’s when their appetite takes a nosedive. The moment they dash into the dining room, their excitement turns to despair at the sight of my chicken Parmesan.

“Eww! What is THIS? I wanted pizza!” they lament. Sure, I caved and ordered pizza once—two years ago when I was sick. But my children cling to the hope that those cheesy slices will magically reappear at dinner.

So, every night, I navigate through the six stages of dinner with kids:

1. Pinterest Paradise: Everything kicks off here, luring me into a false sense of confidence. Dinner? Easy peasy! I browse through endless recipes, imagining myself as a culinary queen while contemplating candied bacon cookies and gingerbread houses. Before I know it, hours have slipped by, and my friends are wondering if I’ve vanished off the face of the Earth.
2. Grocery Store Gauntlet: “Excuse me, do you know where I can find saffron threads?” Fifteen minutes later “Hey, it’s me again! I meant scallops!” The grocery store employees probably dread my visits. Between the chaotic layout and my kids’ ticking timeout, shopping feels like a race against the clock.
3. Avoiding Chaos: Like many families, we have a packed evening schedule filled with activities like dance classes and music lessons. So, when should I start dinner? Is it acceptable to brown meat while running someone to soccer practice? And what’s worse—eating dinner late or facing an awkward chat about lawn maintenance?
4. Infinite Disappointment: The number of times dinner has turned out looking remotely like the Pinterest photo? Close to none. I’m convinced I’m part of some hidden camera show where viewers tune in to witness my culinary failures. I could fill an entire album with “nailed it” moments that look like sad, burnt offerings.
5. Sounds of Discontent: My kids’ reactions to meatloaf could rival a horror movie. There’s no appreciation for my efforts, only disgust for the lack of those infamous cheeseburgers. Most parents might take that personally, but I really enjoy meatloaf, so I just chew and block out the protests.
6. Dramatic Performances: Sometimes it’s my child dramatically feigning a heart attack after spotting a pea. Other times, it’s me pretending to enjoy what I made, like the so-called “Weight Watchers teriyaki.” Most evenings, I let it roll off my back and avoid any threats about throwing in the towel for boxed mac and cheese. But occasionally, if I’ve put in a lot of effort, I pull out my trump card: “Girls, eat your dinner or I’ll write about you in my blog.”

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In summary, navigating dinner with kids can feel like an emotional rollercoaster, with stages ranging from Pinterest inspiration to dramatic protests. Despite the challenges, I continue to find humor in the chaos and strive to create memorable family dinners.