I’ve been reflecting lately on my life as a working mom — thinking about what drains me vs. what fills me up. There’s one thing that gets me through the week more than anything else: our Wednesday night dinner at Grandma’s house.
An invitation became my lifeline
Years ago, when we moved closer to my parents, accepting an invitation to dinner was a no-brainer. But it wasn’t always so easy. In fact, for a while, we lived overseas in England, so visits to and from family were few and far between. So, when an opportunity arose to move closer to my parents, we took it!
That first dinner invitation was followed by another. And without even realizing it, it became something special — a tradition — and the one night a week when I didn’t hear my name called 50 times a minute. I was a guest!
We’ve been having our weekly dinners for seven years now. I’m working more, and the kids have commitments, homework, and tournaments, so setting a nice table and practicing our manners isn’t exactly a priority.
But on Wednesday night, during a busy week, when the good snacks are gone and the meat drawer is empty, we leave our own homework-laden, finger-painted table behind and step through my mom’s front door (Nama to my kids). It’s the one night we know for sure that we won’t be having the leftover chicken nuggets I found in the back of the freezer and that questionable bag of leafy greens, because on Wednesdays, I get a night off.
One-word answers turn into real conversation
When we open the door to my parents’ house, instead of that familiar sweaty scent emanating from my boy’s gym shoes, it smells like cinnamon and roast turkey. Nama puts my kids to work with jobs, filling glasses and getting forks. And on the table filled with actual side dishes, is a half-gallon of Chick-fil-A sauce she bought at Costco earlier that day “just for the kids.”
We practice table manners, and she lets her grandkids pick out question cards that everyone has to answer. Even my middle schoolers, who often give me one-word answers on the ride home from school, start talking about their day. Everyone listens and takes turns. Even my youngest gets a moment to shine.
We’ve kept the ritual alive despite other commitments
It hasn’t always been on Wednesday. It’s shifted depending on soccer practice, school, and work. At one point, we couldn’t find a free night at all, but instead of canceling dinner, we cut back on youth sports. That was a hard choice but a worthwhile sacrifice, because this dinner wasn’t just about food. It is about my parents opening their home and my mom showing her love with food and hospitality — the night I get to just be.
And every once in a while, we return the love — not with a beautiful table or a three-course meal, but with a scoop of ice cream from Salt and Straw, a morning coffee with my mom, or by taking my dad along to a pro-soccer game.
The rhythm of our Wednesday dinner, the hospitality it’s taught our kids, and the rest it has given me in the middle of the week — it’s irreplaceable. I hope that someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to set my own table for my kids and their families, just as my mom does for us now.
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