I found myself in a tough spot when my son and his wife’s actions left me and my daughter hungry on more than one occasion. It reached a point where I felt I had no choice but to give them a reality check about their behavior.

Let me take you back to when my home was quieter and a little less crowded, but always filled with love. My name is Lucy, and I’ve lived in this cozy three-bedroom house for over twenty years. Right now, it’s not just me here. My daughter Ruby, who’s in college, and my son, Brian, and his wife, Emily, also call this place home.

In the beginning, things were smooth. Our home felt livelier, and there was always someone to talk to. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, and meal times became wonderful, communal moments.

But as time passed, I noticed changes. Ruby spent more time at the library. Brian and Emily, rarely went out, meaning more meals at home. The portions that once seemed plentiful now barely made it around. Leftovers became a rarity.

One evening, I realized the extent of the issue. I had made a pound of spaghetti with meat sauce. By the time I was ready to eat, the pot was scraped clean. Ruby came home later, disappointed there was nothing left. This wasn’t an isolated incident.

“Something has to change,” I told Ruby. The next morning, I decided to address the issue head-on. “Everyone, please, have a seat,” I began. “Our current situation with food isn’t working. From now on, I’ll be plating everyone’s meals.”

Brian and Emily were resistant, but I stood firm. The situation was unsustainable, and unfair to Ruby and me. It was about respect, consideration, and understanding—values I held dear and expected everyone in my household to share.