I have an innate belief that if our kids are eating with us and talking to us, then we'll have good kids. Not perfect kids, but good kids.
J and I have the boys every other week. Before we started dating, dinners were usually Subway, Jalisco's, or sloppy joes. That's all well and good, but there wasn't much room for me or my daydreams of family in that rotation.
Cooking is one of the ways I show love. When I visit my parents, my mom and I plan menus and grocery lists, and we spend a good chunk of time in the kitchen. When Y comes over, I want to make something delicious for her. I wanted needed to have that outlet of love towards the boys. J didn't ask me to or expect me to cook...at all...but I needed to have a tangible role in the family. One that would have the potential to spark exponential thriving.
Growing up, we usually ate together as a family. George and I drove through Wendy's to bring it back to the kitchen table countless times. When we ate out, we played table games (the coin on the napkin, guess the state) and shared bites of food. And when Mom said, "Dinner's ready," we were expected to drop everything and get to the table.
We talked around the table.
I don't know how I knew, but I just knew that if I could make family dinners at the kitchen table happen, then we'd have a good head-start at creating this new family.
And it worked.
I introduced a few new-but-comforting regular dinners. J was instrumental in selling these to the boys. Bowtie pasta, biscuit casserole, and nachos are still in heavy rotation.
I ask the Wells boys at the beginning of each week what they want to eat for the next few days. We plan the menu together, and sometimes they help me with a grocery list (and sometimes they show up to shop!).
I could tell it was working when J started asking me what was for dinner, when E started saying "We need to have this more often!" and when Al started dragging his step-stool to the stove to help with anything and everything.
But here was the real kicker: About two months ago, I was prepping dinner one weeknight. J called E into the kitchen and initiated a conversation full of real-life serious pre-teen stuff. They talked while I fried bacon and breaded chicken. As I was peeling potatoes, J promised E, "We cook dinner in this kitchen every night. We eat at that table together every night. If you ever want to talk, you have a place. We're here." Ethen said, "I know. Okay."
It worked.
