They Want Dinner. Every. Single. Night.

By Leigh Thomas

I don’t think anything is more exhausting for a mom than feeding children.

Whether you have to beg your children to eat or you’re trying to satisfy insatiable little appetites, like mine have, it is a JOB. Mom, can I have a snack? Mom, when is lunch? Mommy, can I have some juice? Mom, I’m hungry. Mom, what are we having for dinner tonight? What are we having tomorrow? What about the next day? Mom? Mama? Mommy?…

WHAT?!? Mommy’s not here right now.

I should have seen this coming about 10 minutes after my son was born. The nurse came in and said, “He already acts like he wants to eat. They don’t usually do that so soon.” I thought he was so advanced. I was so naive and stupid.

Fast forward to today. We get home and it’s a stampede to the fridge and/or pantry. Do we have trail mix? Can I have a cookie? I want Goldfish. What do we have? (Really? You are literally climbing the pantry shelves. You can darn well see what we have. And back away from the cookies because you’re having fruit. I’m having the cookies after you go to bed.) They nearly knock me down making their way to the kitchen. Seriously? Can I shut the damn door and put my purse down? Have you never seen food before? Has it been THAT long since you’ve last eaten? I’m pretty sure they still have lunchtime at school. At least I’m still paying for it. And you will get another MEAL soon if you will just let me get to it.

Which brings me to dinnertime.

I should clarify all this by saying I am NOT a cook at heart. I come from a long line of fantastic (I mean seriously great) cooks, but I really broke the mold. I set the stove on fire in my first apartment trying to boil spaghetti noodles (don’t ask), and before my first-born was eating table food, a bowl of cereal was a damn satisfactory dinner as far as I was concerned.

Well, things change, and I have tried really freakin’ hard to make sure my children’s nutritional needs are met. I just didn’t realize the bar would be set so high. I mean, they JUST asked me for dinner yesterday.

I meticulously plan ahead so that we have a nutritious, budget-friendly meal on the table at a decent hour. And then I want to order pizza because it is damn exhausting. I push through and take one for the team most days, but inevitably there’s the crappy day when I don’t even want to take a dish out of my cabinet unless it’s a wine glass, much less wreck the whole kitchen.

And what do they want? They want sandwiches. It goes something like this:
Kids: (after school) What are we having for dinner?
Me: (in my head) Chicken parmesan. You’re supposed to make chicken parmesan. Tell them you’re making chicken parmesan. Me want wine and pajamas.
Me: (what I really say) We’re having sandwiches.
Kids: (cheers all around)

So I hang my head in shame as I throw peanut butter sandwiches on paper plates, add grapes and a glass of milk to make myself feel better, and slap them down on the table and wonder what the hell is so wrong with my chicken parm. Which is now in tomorrow night’s dinner slot. Maybe.

Leigh Thomas is a Columbia-area wife, mom of two, runner and communications professional. Because that affords her so much spare time, she also pursues freelance writing and editing. Visit her blog at literalleigh.blogspot.com.