Chapter 5: My issues with…family dinners

What are family dinners?
No, seriously, what are they? I guess the idea behind eating with your family is that you eat with your family (and get to know them?). I wouldn’t know. I can count on my left hand the number of times I have actually sat down with my children at my home, at the same time, around a table.

I can lower that number to three if we’re counting the number of enjoyable times we have gathered as a family to eat. Is it just me? Or are family dinners no fun at all? 

We attempt them every few months, but something always pops up, which makes having a meal together near impossible. Plus, there’s just too much yelling and whining, leading me to more oft than not inwardly scream, “What level of parenting hell is this?”

First, there’s just too much getting up! Someone forgot a fork. Or one kid will ask for a napkin. Then the other kid will yell, “They’re closer to you!” (by 1/4 of an inch). Or another kid needs a red straw and not the "stupid purple straw.”

Then at the end of that, um, say eight minutes of eating together as a family — where I’m not counting calories but the clock — I’ll have to remind each kid to take their dishes and put them into the sink at least three times. Finally, after numerous “Did you just hear what I said?” at least one kid will finally look up at me, in a daze, like I've appeared out of nowhere speaking in a foreign language, only to respond with, “But we're watching videos together!”

So, I end up putting them away, because I don't like to yell, and it's just easier. And the kids are having fun now! Who am I to take away that sibling bonding fun time, even if my teen is showing the younger ones horrifying YouTube videos of idiots attempting to skateboard off bridges, with musical background lyrics that are only appropriate for….no one, at any age, anywhere.

Who are these parents, living in the twentieth century, who can pull off this almost impossible feat of having family dinners — even once a week?

I think I may be able to enjoy family dinners when my children are old enough to either host them or by the time I finally land a quadruple jump ice skating in perfect form. And I don't own ice skates.

So, I’ve called time of death on The Family Dinner in these modern times. I'm okay with it.

While family dinners could be or might have at one point been a “bonding experience” for families, I easily could name 10 other family bonding activities that are much more enjoyable and much more doable than eating together at the same time. (And that last a lot longer than 8-10 minutes.)

My little ones come home from school by 3:00 p.m. and need to have a snack immediately before they do homework or they’ll be cranky AF. Their dinner is prepared by our housekeeper, who makes sure the nine-year-olds eat at 4:45 p.m.

They eat in front of their iPads or while playing Xbox lying on the floor in the den, while I’m still working on my computer or in a meeting or texting with friends and keep an eye out on my phone alarms — one of which reminds me that my son’s math tutor is arriving at 5:30 p.m., and the other of which lets me know when it's time to take another kid to volunteer at 6:30 p.m.

So, dinner for the younger ones needs to be done before 5:30 on most days — except on the days when my son has tutoring or after-school circulars (basketball, Tae Kwon Do, soccer, or squash), when dinner needs to be either very early or much later. 

Honestly, having a meal together as a family these days is a lot like trying to book an online reservation to a new restaurant with another couple and you see your only options are either 4:45pm. (what are we, 80?) or 9:45 p.m. (what are we, 30?).

I do sometimes wonder if family dinners have died off because our kids always need to be someplace or at some activity that doesn't take into consideration timing, let alone meal times, which is not my fault.

Who decided that my son’s squash lessons had to be at 6:30 p.m. on Wednesdays? Why did my daughter’s chess club have to be at 5:00 p.m. also on Wednesdays? One kid has to eat after their activity, and the other before. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Before my daughter headed off to college, I would have to race to pick her up at 6:45 p.m. when she had swim meets or ski lessons. And if she decided she needed extra help at school — at least three times a week — dinner for her could be anywhere from 7:30 to 8:30 p.m., when my youngest would be showering before bed.

We can’t even get it together to have breakfast together, since, again, the little ones need to be at school by 8:20 a.m. and my daughter not until 9:15 a.m. So, as I'm screaming, “You need to wear socks!” and “Where’s that piece of paper you needed me to sign?” my eldest is drying her hair upstairs, drowning out my voice.

So, actually, the ideal time for us to have a family meal could in theory be at 3:45, if my daughter ditched her last class, raced home, ate with us for 20 minutes, where I’d almost certainly find myself yelling, “Just don't look at each other!” — even though my little one is usually one his iPad and my daughter is staring at her iPhone or Apple watch — before she would have to study, then speak to her therapist.

I officially called time of death on family dinners at my house last year on May 15th at 7:47 p.m., when my daughter texted me from three feet away asking if I'd like to have dinner with her at the weirdest place — the kitchen table. 

What the hell, I thought. This would be an experience! (Though, I was also thinking, “That must have been her stupid therapist she just got off the phone with, who put this ridiculous idea in her head!”) So, I proceeded to madly clear the kitchen table, where I found an entire line of skin care products I had ordered three months earlier.

The kitchen table is also where I work, where the kids leave their knapsacks, and where mail piles up. If anyone loses anything, everyone's answer is, “Look on the kitchen table!”

Almost all parents would jump at the chance to have dinner with their teen daughter. But I'm slightly scared of mine. 

It’s not just that she demands an organic salad or organic vegetable plate, along with her entire organic meal (or she will not be happy), she will even lecture me about who knows what. 

I love my daughter unconditionally, except when she eats. It takes her longer to eat a meal than it would for me to pluck each individual strand of grass in my backyard with tweezers. 

And the longer it takes for her to eat, the more likely she is to lecture me, usually over a word that no longer means what it did just two weeks ago. When I eat a meal with my daughter, I don’t feel she wants to bond with me. Rather, I think she wants to debate with me. Yeah, no thanks.

Now that we have found ourselves in a situation where it seems I am the voice of reason, we are definitely in uncharted territory.

I always liked the idea and was and am envious of friends who managed to rope their kids together to sit down and eat at the same fucking time. 

But as you can now see, to get all my kids to sit down with me — and to have all our schedules in sync for even one dinner together a week — I would have to be a master scheduler, somewhat organized, and bribe at least one kid. And also get off my phone, which I can do. I just don’t wanna.

Even as a child, I didn’t think family dinners were much fun, but they were definitely expected by society and, therefore, by my parents. As soon as my mom screamed, “Dinner is ready,” all three of my brothers and I would race to that kitchen table — a table that was only ever used as a table to eat off of.

There was no, “I have my tutor in 10 minutes,” or “Can we get drive-thru on the way to practice?” or “Only eight more minutes of this video left,” or “I can’t stop playing or I’ll die, and no I can't put the game on pause!” or “You gave me a purple straw. I refuse to drink this unless there’s a red one!”

I also got repeatedly yelled at during every single family dinner throughout my entire childhood for feeding our family dog under the table, which I did with abundance at every meal, and not all that sneakily either.

The only thing I remember about family meals growing up — and I'm sure my brothers would back me on this — was my dad yelling, "Becky! Stop feeding the dog!” every 32 seconds, ensuring an actual conversation never happened.

It got to the point where I wanted to say to my father, “Father? You have told me to stop feeding the dog at least 20 times every time we eat together for years now. I will always feed the dog under the table, you know that. So, can we just skip all this pretending. Haven’t we passed this point in our relationship?” 

To which my father would most likely have said, “No, we are not. I'm still your father, so stop feeding the dog!” To which I’d have then responded, “Well, then, I have no clue what you’re talking about. I never feed the dog.” 

This went on until I moved out — and also why our family dogs always loved me the most.  

I was once stupid enough to tell my mother that I didn't like the tuna cakes she had prepared. I think I said, “This is going to make me barf!” She screamed that I either finish my meal or she’d…cancel my dentist's appointment. 

I guess at some point I loved going to the dentist, but to this day, tuna cakes are a trigger. Yes, like everyone else, I'm allowed to be triggered too. If I’m served tuna cakes, there better be a dog under the table.

Now that my parents are grandparents, if they dare serve any meal and one of my children says, “I don't like it,” my mother will instantly get up and say, “Would you prefer a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off? Or perhaps I can whip you up some Bolognese? And Zaida can run out and buy you red straws!” Which leaves me to think, “Who are you two and where were you when I was a kid?” 

Also, “Welcome to modern parenting, where you’ll never sit down to eat, and your grandchildren have no idea what a set dinner time is!”

I really don't know many mothers who insist their children eat what they make anymore. It would seem cruel to send them to bed without eating. It would seem just as cruel to force them to finish everything on their plate. Most modern parents actually ask their children what they want for dinner, even if one is gluten-free, the other is a vegetarian, and the other only eats organic meat. 

I’ve realized I’m basically a waiter. “Here are your options," I tell my kids, listing at least five meals before we land on one they can all agree on — and that they won’t be eating at the same time anyway (at least one of them will be eating in the car as I race them to whatever activity I said yes to while I was most likely half-asleep.)

My kid will say, “I’d like to upgrade that and add on a side of fries?” I mean the kid is nine and grew up with this thing called UberEats, which means if he feels like a specific rice dish, he’ll say, "Can we just Uber eats from {name of expensive Chinese restaurant?}” Or he’ll ask, “Can we order a steak sandwich from {name of costly steakhouse}” Again, the dude is nine. He’s like one step away from asking for a bar fridge in his room.

That is, if he ever hung out in his room..

Here’s why I’m okay with the death of family dinners, and why you’ll see that it’s more likely doable to turn myself inside out than it is to get my family sitting together for a meal.

One major shift that has occurred since I was a child? Unlike my brothers and me and all my friends — who hid in our rooms to gossip back in the day when I had my very own landline, which I got for my 13th birthday and was a huge deal — my kids don't ever hang out in their bedrooms, ever. Not even when they have friends over.

The only time my kids are in their actual bedrooms is to change and to sleep, and even still, one nine-year-old still sleeps with me in my bed, which is almost nine hours of bonding time. We can still bond, even if we’re asleep. I could, in fact, rent out my son’s room. He might notice in a year or two, that’s how little time he spends in his bedroom.

My kids are always running around the main floor, hanging around playing alone or with friends. Like I said, they are always everywhere, except in their bedrooms, so quite frankly, I don’t need to bond with my children over a meal, because they’re around me all the time.

It is not unreasonable for my daughter to be eating dinner at 7:30 p.m. in front of her computer, her long legs resting across the table, as I work. It is not unreasonable for my little ones to eat on plates on the floor in the Xbox room, with paper towels at their feet and bottles of water on the coffee table, so they can play Minecraft at the same time…while talking to someone on their headsets who is probably eating dinner too. 

I still have no clue what Minecraft is, but I do know that it is also not unreasonable for any of my kids to eat in my bed at whatever hour I eat, which could be anywhere from 4:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m.

Eating in bed is one of life’s greatest joys — or at least it’s one of mine — so often “eating together” does happen, cuddled up on my California king-size bed (covered with beach towels for the occasion) as we watch a movie. 

The only arguing that occurs in this instance is sparked by my son, who asks, “Why are you eating so loud?” (Um because there are four of us eating cuddled together?)  Or, without a doubt, someone will say, “Can you pass the—“ before another kid, or me, interrupts with, “Urgh. You just made me miss that line. Now we have to rewind!” And, of course without a doubt someone will complain, “You're taking up all the comforter,” while pulling it over, ensuring that some sauce or drink will topple over.

Sure, there will be soy sauce stains on my bed whenever we order sushi. Yes, there will be ketchup stains if we order fries. Of course, there are crumbs on the comforter — actually, sometimes there are so many crumbs, they could be leftovers, especially if we’re eating rice (unfortunately, I’m hyper-aware of this because I like to sleep naked).

I guess we do have modern or “non-traditional” family meals, bonding over a movie, while I'm also teaching them one of life’s greatest pleasures: eating in bed, which is way more fun than sitting around a kitchen table, where questions quickly turn into an interrogation: “So, what did you learn in class? What mark did you get on your last test? What are your friends’ names?”

My daughter can literally eat an entire bowl of hot pea soup in bed without spilling 95% of it. I think she should put this on a dating app, if she ever goes on one. You don't learn those skills eating together at the table.