Cooking dinner for my family had become a nightmare—my daughter’s friends kept devouring everything!
My daughter, Eleanor, is the life of the party. Her warmth and kindness draw people in like a beacon. Our home in Manchester is always filled with her friends—kids of all ages, not just classmates. I’m glad she’s sociable, but lately, things have spiraled out of control, and I’m at my wit’s end.
It started when Eleanor began inviting friends over. With winter settling in, I didn’t mind children playing indoors where it was warm. At first, she’d serve them tea and biscuits, put on music, or organise games. I even admired her hospitality. But now, unfamiliar teenagers I’ve never met before show up at our door—and their manners are appalling.
Just last week, I returned from work to find two strangers in my kitchen, spooning shepherd’s pie straight from the dish—the one I’d made to last us two days. Not a crumb remained. They dumped their dirty plates in the sink and vanished without a word. I was fuming. With nothing left for dinner and too exhausted to cook again, I nearly snapped.
I tried explaining to Eleanor that inviting strangers over to raid our food was unacceptable. Biscuits? Fine. But the groceries in the fridge? That’s for family. She lashed out, accusing me of being stingy, then stormed off, slamming her bedroom door so hard the windows shook. Locked inside, she refused to speak to me. Guilt gnawed at me—but what choice did I have?
I boiled potatoes and fried sausages, calling everyone to the table. Eleanor refused to eat, acting as if I were the enemy. The next morning, before leaving for work, I warned her, *”There’s enough food for two days. I’ll be late—don’t expect another meal.”* Yet when I got home past eleven, my husband, Gregory, was frying eggs in a near-empty kitchen. Eleanor’s friends had plundered the fridge again. She barricaded herself in her room, avoiding any explanation.
I’m desperate. How do I reach her? She won’t listen, hurling absurd accusations—*”You’re selfish! You hate my friends!”* Is this teenage rebellion? Did Gregory and I fail somewhere? I don’t know how to handle this. My heart aches—I want her happy, but I can’t tolerate this chaos.
We’re not tight-fisted, but our budget is stretched thin. Gregory and I work ourselves to the bone just to keep food on the table. I cook hearty meals for my family, only to feed strangers instead. My mother keeps saying, *”It’s time to lay down the law!”* But I won’t resort to harsh discipline. I want peace, not battles—yet Eleanor won’t engage, and I feel her slipping further away.
What would you do? How do I make her see the strain this puts on us without pushing her further away? How do I set boundaries before our home becomes a free-for-all canteen? If you’ve faced this, tell me—I’m at breaking point.
