Coffee Break: Picky Eater and the HATE for Dinner Time

Anyone else have a kid who refuses to eat… while also juggling a few gourmet-level picky eaters? Because let me tell you—dinner time in my house is a full-blown emotional rollercoaster with a side of cold fries and silent tears.

I dread dinner time. Like full-body tension, slow blink, silent scream into the void level of dread. It stresses me out more than I care to admit. I feel like I’m running a five-star restaurant with a Yelp rating of 2.3, mainly because my customers cry, throw things, and expect dinosaur-shaped food at all times.

And before anyone hits me with the “just make one meal and if they don’t eat, oh well,” advice... listen, Linda—been there, tried that, got the therapy bill. My one child would straight-up starve herself for three days like she’s training for a hunger strike, and I wish I was kidding. So no, I cannot “just make them eat what I make.” That’s how we all end up crying in a Wendy’s parking lot.

Speaking of drive-thrus, even that’s a nightmare. Nobody wants the same thing. Everyone changes their mind mid-order. And my husband? Useless in these scenarios. I ask what he wants and he hits me with the classic “I don’t know, you pick.” Sir. I’m already coordinating four wildly different Happy Meal preferences—this is not a group project!

Let’s break it down:

• My oldest: Picky, but manageable. She’s graduated from chicken nuggets to actual food groups, so we’re making progress.

• My first middle child: A culinary enigma. One day it’s grilled cheese or bust, the next day cheese is “disgusting” and how dare I even suggest such filth?

• My third child: Used to eat anything that didn’t eat him first. Now takes four bites and immediately forgets we’re eating because his ADHD turns dinner into American Ninja Warrior: Dining Edition.

• My youngest: Eats like a grown man with two gym memberships, yet somehow doesn’t gain an ounce. She’s over here smashing three tacos while I’m crying over calorie counts and carb intake.

And me? I’m just trying not to have a nervous breakdown over fish sticks.

The cherry on top? My one daughter, the Queen of Culinary Confusion. She’ll ask for something at 9 AM, and by 6 PM when I proudly place it in front of her like Gordon Ramsay, she looks at it and goes, “Hmm… that doesn’t look the same as last time.”

Ma’am. Excuse me? I’m standing here with a twitch in my eye, clenching a fork like it’s a stress ball. She’s lucky I didn’t plate my broken dreams and tears.

She once told my mom her mac & cheese was the “wrong shade of yellow.” What in the Crayola crayon judgment is that?! At this point, I genuinely think she’s messing with me just for sport. And honestly? Respect.

Things got so bad I actually put her in food therapy. And praise the Lord, it helped. I found out she has a sensory issue with texture, and chips are her “safe food” because of the consistent crunch, salt, and shape. Makes sense now, but back then I was convinced she was just staging a protest. Turns out, it’s a little sensory overload... and a whole lot of stubborn.

We’re doing better now—she’s trying more things, I’m crying less—but it’s still a daily Olympic event. Honestly, dinner time is the Hunger Games and I’m just trying to survive without burning something or losing my sanity.

So if you’re a parent who feels personally victimized by meal time... I see you. I salute you. I cry with you in spirit.

If your child is a little more “extra” when it comes to food (or life in general), I hope you find something that works—because it’s not just about the food. It’s about not feeling like a total failure because someone didn’t like how the cheese melted.

Dinner isn’t just a meal. It’s a test of patience, perseverance, and parental peacekeeping skills. May your coffee be strong, your patience stronger, and may your mac & cheese always be the right shade of yellow.