What’s for Dinner? The Question That Haunts My Day

I need to get something off my chest. When I became a wife and a mother, no one warned me that one of the most soul-crushing questions I’d face every single day for the rest of my life would be, “What’s for dinner?” Like, seriously, who thought this was a good idea? When I signed up for the “adulting” package, where was the waiver that said: “By the way, you’ll spend the next 30 years (or more) staring into the fridge like it owes you money, wondering what on earth to feed your family every single night.”

As a kid, dinner was easy. It just… happened. It magically appeared on the table, and my only responsibility was to show up before the food disappeared. Growing up in a family of 12 (yes, twelve), you learned quickly that punctuality was survival. If you weren’t on time, you suffered the consequences. You either got there in the first 10 minutes or you were stuck with whatever remains your siblings didn’t want.

But now? Now I’m the one who has to figure out what’s for dinner. And let me tell you, every day at 4:30 PM, I find myself sitting in the kitchen like I’m in the middle of a high-stakes episode of Dinner Roulette. The mental checklist begins:

Do I have something that won’t make me cry to cook?

Can I sneak in toast and cereal again?

Will my children look at it and immediately say, “This is disgusting, Mom,” before I’ve even sat down?

Is there any chance I can make this meal in under 30 minutes and magically clean it all up at the same time?

And of course, I didn’t inherit my mother’s cooking talent. My saint of a mother could whip up meals like it was her superpower. Homemade bread that could solve world peace if only we could ship it globally, and her cookies? A batch of perfect cookies in 10 minutes flat? No problem. I swear she ran a secret bakery out of our kitchen, and her “dainties” could bring grown men to their knees.

The cooking gene skipped me completely. But Amanda—oh, Amanda. She inherited Mom’s talent, and you will never leave her house hungry. Where I see a pile of ingredients labeled “mystery box,” Amanda sees a five-star meal ready to make you feel loved, fed, and slightly ashamed of your own efforts.

And don’t even get me started on my sister-in-law. This woman can whip up the most mouthwatering meals with what looks like three ingredients. It’s sorcery, I swear. Meanwhile, I’m over here Googling, “What to make with frozen chicken, carrots, and zero motivation.”

The post-holiday dinner struggle is real. The kids are suffering from sugar withdrawal, and after being spoiled by Mom's Christmas dinner and two epic feasts at the in-laws, my basic weeknight cooking feels like following up a Broadway show with my off-key shower singing. The struggle to return to normal meals is like trying to convince myself that kale is as exciting as Christmas cookies.

But you know what? Once a week, I reclaim my culinary pride with what my nieces and nephews affectionately refer to as “Tante Stacy’s Supper.” The masterpiece? Toast and cereal. That’s right. Who doesn’t love a big ol’ bowl of cereal? It’s comforting. It’s simple. It’s underrated. Throw in some fruit and cucumbers on the side, and BAM, you’ve got yourself a balanced meal. 

Thankfully for my children's sake, I’ve found my lifeline: my glorious crockpot. I would die without it. The crockpot is the unsung hero of my kitchen, letting me “cook” while barely participating. And sure, I have a habit of drying out the meat (that’s a talent too, right?), but hey, dinner’s served.

And let’s not forget the glorious power of the internet—Stay Fit Mom and Lillie Eats and Tells. These women have saved me from yet another sad dinner of pasta and whatever expired condiments I can scrape from the fridge. Their recipes are magical, easy, and (best of all) actually edible. Do yourself a favour and check them out, fabulous meals await.

This is why I love all-inclusive vacations. For one glorious week, I don’t have to think about cooking. Not once. Someone else does all the work while I float from buffet to buffet like the queen I was born to be. It’s heaven.

But then… here comes the Airbnb trend. Suddenly, someone pipes up with, “Let’s rent a house! It’ll be cheaper, and we can cook our meals to save money!” Damn it. Now I’m back to meal planning, grocery shopping, and feeling guilty because I didn’t whip up something Pinterest-worthy. Who’s idea was this? Seriously, who started this nonsense?

Honestly, at this point, I’d sell my soul for a dinner fairy. Someone who could pop in, wave a magic wand, and make it all better. Until then, you’ll find me staring into the fridge, pretending something inspiring is going to leap out at me.

So here’s to all the moms out there, hand on the fridge door, wondering what the hell to make for dinner. And if you’re fresh out of ideas? Give Tante Stacy’s Supper a try.

Because toast and cereal never let you down.