Family dinners can often feel like a disaster. This is disheartening, especially since every parenting article seems to celebrate the virtues of sharing a meal together—teaching kids social skills, expanding their taste buds, and refining their manners. We genuinely put in the effort: I cook, I set the table, and we adhere to Ellyn Satter’s philosophy of meal responsibility, which means I no longer plead with my kids to try a bite of this or that or negotiate for a taste of broccoli. So why do our dinners frequently turn into a chaotic scene? It seems straightforward: prepare a tasty dish, engage in conversation, and everyone should leave satisfied. Yet this rarely occurs, leading me to question if I was missing something crucial. Then, I met a woman named Sarah at the park who offered me a refreshing perspective.
At that time, I was a stay-at-home mom grappling with a baby and a preschooler, feeling inundated by the daily grind of childcare, housework, and cooking. I felt like I was falling short on all fronts and contemplated returning to work. While at the sandbox, I observed Sarah skillfully managing her 18-month-old daughter and 5-month-old son. During our conversation, I learned that she and her husband worked late hours, yet I was curious about how they handled dinner. I tend to be a slow cook (really, I’m slow at everything!), and the idea of walking through the door at 6:15 and whipping up a decent meal in just 15 minutes felt impossible.
When you look closely, family dinners are quite intricate. A multitude of unpredictable factors must align: meal planning, grocery shopping, cleaning up after breakfast and lunch, and then preparing the meal. There’s actual cooking to consider, too. Plus, clearing off the table cluttered with art projects, keys, and the inevitable hat, followed by setting the table (during which I usually forget the salt or the water glasses). Then, there are two kids—ages 5 and 2—who need to not dissolve into tears, whine about their dinner, or toss their potatoes on the floor. They also can’t ask us to fetch milk or ketchup five times during the meal. As adults, we must make a genuine effort to converse without being distracted by work or other worries.
Family dinner demands not only long-term planning and organization but also short-term focus (for instance, chopping carrots while sautéing onions and checking if the pork chop is cooked, all while fielding questions about Batman’s secret lair). It relies on everyone’s moods being relatively stable; ideally, no one should be crying. It requires stamina: after cooking, we must get the food onto four plates and to the table before it cools down but not when it’s too hot. And after everyone has eaten, there’s the long and tedious clean-up phase.
What I realized is that family dinner is no small feat. It’s a mix of strategy, dance, and chance, yet we often overlook the complexity involved in this aspect of our lives. I felt guilty when dinners didn’t go smoothly, when the kids turned their noses up at what I’d prepared (or I did), when the meal lacked vibrancy, or when someone was having a mood at the table.
But Sarah, the woman from the park, had a calmness about her family meals. When I asked about what she cooked, she shared a streamlined list: frozen tacos from Trader Joe’s, ready-made crab cakes, and pre-packaged chicken salad over fresh spinach, among others. All were quick or no-cook options, either frozen or easy to assemble. Her husband did the grocery shopping on Sundays, and their weekly meals were mostly the same, with the occasional takeout on weekends.
This was a stark contrast to my own more elaborate but labor-intensive menus. Before becoming a mom, I enjoyed cooking—slicing vegetables while listening to the news and caramelizing onions with a glass of wine in hand. I tried to maintain that passion for cooking with an ever-changing menu every night, even as a mom. Sarah, on the other hand, admitted she had once been like me, but once her second child arrived and she returned to her job, priorities shifted.
Then she said, “This is just not my time to cook. There will be a time for cooking when they’re older and don’t need me every second. For now, it’s the same seven meals. No need to ponder what to make or if I should pick up a lemon. I simply grab the crab cakes or tacos, wash the kids up, and we eat in 15 minutes.”
This was a revelation—not just for the simplicity of her meal choices but for her utter lack of guilt about it. I had absorbed the notion that “good parents cook from scratch,” leading to feelings of inadequacy when I didn’t. I often reflect on her words, especially when I hastily put together some hard-boiled eggs and toast for dinner: “It’s not my time to cook.” There have been times when cooking was enjoyable, and there will be again, but for now, not every meal must be perfect for family dinners to hold value. It’s our opportunity to share a meal, coax the 5-year-old to use a napkin, and encourage the 2-year-old to sit still—even if one of us is occasionally upset. It’s our time to appreciate each other’s company, even amidst the chaos. It’s our chance to do the best we can. Right now, it’s simply not our time to cook.
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Summary
Family dinners can be chaotic and overwhelming, particularly for parents juggling multiple responsibilities. A chance encounter with another mom revealed the simplicity and lack of guilt in her approach to meals, emphasizing that it’s okay to have a streamlined menu. The focus should be on quality time together, rather than perfection in cooking.