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DINNER AT MY HOUSE

By: Kate Cayanni   |   September 9, 2021

I have always perceived that one of the “achievements” of motherhood is dinner as a family. I grew up in a house where my dad came home from work, we’d get dinner on the table, and everyone would eat together.  We’d talk about the day and eat like grown-ups and my memories always include a very put-together meal.

I’ve worked hard at recreating this experience of “dinner as a family” in my own home. 

But, this is how our evenings typically pan out: I finish work and take over caring for the kids while my husband keeps working downstairs.

My kids push cars around on the floor. I have a meal in mind that requires minimal prep. I’m on a mission for us to enjoy it together. This is empowerment, right? 

I chop potatoes and put them into the oven to roast. The 4-year-old asks how she can help. I start giving her small tasks: put the sauce ingredients over by the stove, make sure the table has forks on it. 

The 2-year-old decides he wants to help too, only that’s not helpful.

The 4-year-old takes the 2-year-old’s car. He starts to cry and kick (his instantaneous reaction to ANYTHING that upsets him lately). I pick him up and realize he needs a diaper change. 

He is not excited about this and protests by flopping around and whacking my arms while I attempt to clean his bottom. My oven timer is buzzing. My 4-year-old has offered me the replacement diaper 10 times and is getting upset at me for not saying “thank you” to her the last five times she offered.

I go to chuck the dirty diaper in the bin and find the Diaper Genie bag is spent and has fallen into the Diaper Genie. I chuck the diaper anyway and make a mental note to fix it later. 

I set the newly diapered boy on the floor, among the cars, and set off to wash hands, cook some green beans and put chicken nuggets in the oven. I set the table. Appropriately sized forks at each place. Non-spill cups of water at two seats. We’re on track again. They will have all that they need and when dinner is ready, we will all sit down together to eat. 

I start sautéing chicken breasts for my husband and me. As the minutes count down (so close!), things start to go off the rails. 

My 4-year-old asks for granola, something to eat. I say no, dinner is just a few minutes away. We’ll all sit down together and eat. 

Her cheeks turn red and she looks desperate as she begins to muster up some tears. 



Their dad comes upstairs and surveys the area. He sees the table is set and dinner is not ready and so puts on shoes to take recycling out and check the mail. My 2-year-old has shoe radar and instantly appears, ready to go outside with his dad because outside is better than staying here. My husband gives him the slip and scoots out the door quickly. Naturally the 2-year-old, crestfallen, melts into another tantrum. His mouth agape with anger and hurt that his dad would just go without him to wherever he went. 

I pick him up to offer comfort, but simultaneously my oven is going off. The veggies are ready. I hold him against me while I carefully remove sheet pans from the oven and set them on the counter. I have to make the sauce. One-handed, I add ingredients, in this strange tilted position, keeping what’s happening in my right hand out of the 2-year-old’s reach. I’ve given the 4-year-old the task of putting the cars away and out of the middle of the floor, which she is doing...one car at a time...meticulously parking each car along the seat of our couch. Dad comes back in to see this and I set the 2-year-old down again. 

Tantrum, again. Dad sets to get the kids in their seats for dinner. 

I plate dinner, and we sit. Everyone has the same food on their plate. My 4-year-old has not taken a bite and wonders if there is more, I assure her if she eats what is on her plate, there is more available. 

The 2-year-old has pushed his plate away and is whining while he points at my plate and casts his fork away. It’s futile, but I reiterate that what is on my plate is what is on his plate.

“Our dinner is the same. You have your own potatoes. Your own chicken,” I say. 

He gestures. What? My fork? This fork is too big for you.

He gestures, whining more. 

I get up, grab a salad fork. I watch him struggle with this fork so proudly. He wields it like a sword between bites. 

My husband and I are cringing, just waiting for this to play out poorly. I have resorted to holding his hand while he holds the fork and assisting him in stabbing into each bite. 

My husband has finished his dinner and taken over the fork assistance exercise. I am free to finish my dinner without interrupted bites. The 4-year-old announces that she is full (plate not clean). The 2-year-old has started his “get me out of this highchair” routine and we will now move on to the get-ready-for-bedtime portion of the evening. 

I read a quote once, “You know you’re a mom when you understand why mama bear’s porridge was cold.” My dinners are rarely hot when I eat them. I get up multiple times during a meal to get a multitude of things: new water, spoon, different spoon, more olives, a new plate, a bigger plate (like daddy’s), a blue napkin, not a white one. I don’t think my story is exceptionally different from other parents with small kids.  

But I have to tell you: it’s the worst two hours of my day. 

I want it to be the best two hours. It’s meant to be this wonderful family tradition. I want to brag, “We eat dinner together, as a family, every night.”

But I am over it. I want to enjoy my food. I want to hear how my husband’s day went without five thousand interruptions. I want to taste warm chicken and cold white wine.

So, we’ve switched. I now make dinner for the kids, we finish and play together and clean up together and do bedtime and then, my husband and I eat a meal together. Just us. We talk about whatever the hell we want.

Maybe I’ll revisit the whole idea of a family meal in a few years, but for now...this, a dinner alone with my husband, is true empowerment. It’s right for us.

And I’ve convinced myself that the whole image of a family, sitting around a table together, doesn’t really mean anything—except that maybe they’re eating together but totally miserable.  

Kate Cayanni is a mother to two toddlers, a lover of baking at home and handwritten letters.  She is the founder of Good Smart Funny, where she helps small business owners develop a plan to hire their team and engage them.  You can reach Kate by email – kate@goodsmartfunny.com  follow her @goodsmartfunny or learn more at www.goodsmartfunny.com.

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