According to certain experts in academia, I have put my kids’ entire emotional and educational futures at risk because I haven’t made the family dinner an immutable, Norman Rockwell-esque fixture in our lives. It did not suffice for me to swap my corporate credit card for a Costco card and a minivan when I began my long tenure as a stay-at-home mom. I’ve since logged more hours in the orthodontist’s waiting room and carpool lines than President Obama has logged on Air Force One.
These “experts” are smugly secure in their pronouncements because they dangle the letters “Ph.D.” after their names. I’m going to take a wild guess that these were not letters they earned while playing with Sesame Street’s Alphabet Elmo bus on the floor with toddlers, Ernie happily shouting out when it was time for Mom to toss the tassel on her Color-Me-A-Ph.D. mortarboard.
Don’t misunderstand: I love the idea of a nurturing, nourishing family dinner, night after night. I simply wasn’t skilled enough to pull it off more often than our Friday night and Saturday afternoon Shabbat meals. I discovered that in the real world, a 3-year-old needs to eat dinner at 5 p.m. This might be the perfect time for grandparents to pick him up and catch the early-bird special, but it’s a less-than-ideal time for a young mom who would prefer to have dinner with her husband, if she is old-fashioned enough to have one of those.
Besides, I was too busy cutting up cucumbers into eyes and dotting raisins for eyebrows (to make eating vegetables fun and exciting, you see) to have the time to sit down and dine with the tots. Despite this negligence, none of my kids flunked out of school, took up drugs, developed eating disorders or became trial lawyers. Maybe this was because I worked double and triple shifts in the kitchen, hanging around to talk—or more importantly, listen to—whoever was eating at the time.
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