I am so tired of dinner.
Not eating it. Planning it, buying it, cooking it, then hearing four separate complaints like I run a restaurant with no tips.
One kid hates onions. One suddenly hates chicken. My husband says anything with sauce is “a lot.” Yesterday I made plain tacos and someone still asked if we had pizza.
So tonight I made myself eggs and toast and told everybody else to figure it out.
They acted like I had abandoned the family on a mountain.
There is food here. They all have hands. Two of them can drive.
Would it be terrible if I stopped cooking for a week, because I am about one complaint away from serving cereal forever.
I stopped asking what everybody wanted and regained years of my life.
I would serve complaints with a side of absolutely nothing.
Two of them can drive? Congratulations, they can discover groceries.
Eggs and toast are elite. Let them fend.
The fridge is full. Their hands work. Case closed.
My family also treats dinner like a focus group I did not request.
Cereal is a meal. The box says fortified and I accept that testimony.
Dinner complaints are wild when nobody helped plan, shop or cook.