How many dinners do you make?
Our grocery bill conversation has led me to realize that we often make more than one dinner every night: something the girls like and something the adults like. Just last night, inspired to cook up something fresh and new and only use the bits and pieces in the pantry or fridge, I made a big pot of soup. We set the table and sat down to eat. My oldest child doth protested: "I want Chinese Chicken!" referring to the three packages of the stuff that we bought from Trader Joe's the day before. Deflated, I made some. But, she ate some of my homemade lentil potato soup also. I think she could sense my deflation.
I am so glad I'm the only one who makes different dinners for the different palates around the table. Shannon shared:
I totally get what you're saying. I'm so sick of being a short order cook that by the time I've made the boys what they'll eat, I just don't cook and tell the man, who busts his arse everyday, to suck it. No, not really...but close. I'm this close to doing the "this is what's for dinner, eat it or not" but, one kid is vegetarian, kind of, and one likes bland, the other spicy,etc...it's so overwhelming.
Then, says Leah:
I think the "short order cook" issue is a big one for a lot of families...how do you tackle that? One thing my mom did when we were kids (there were 5 of us, and she never made a special meal for anyone--we ate what we were served, period) was she would ask us what we wanted for dinner that week and she cooked accordingly. Maybe getting your kids on board with the menu for the week would help?
How many dinners do you make to meet the needs and preferences of all the family members? Do you just make one big meal? What if some don't eat or "don't like" it? How do we make it easier on ourselves so as not to make dining a completely a la carte experience?















One week ago on the nose, which was (according to my calculations) day one of my third trimester, I suddenly got terrible heartburn. I almost never get heartburn, so at first I thought I was about to go into labor, or was struck with an awful pregnancy-related disease. But no: it was just heartburn.



For many years I lived in Boston trying to become a rock star. To make ends meet, I had a job delivering art to Manhattan galleries once a week. We would fire up the truck at 4 am, deliver to all the hip galleries in town and double park a lot, hit a “Ray’s Pizza” for lunch, and make it back to bean town around 10 pm for a couple of beers at Foley’s.
