Our Dad Asked the Whole Family to Buy Mom Kitchen Utensils for Christmas as She’s a ‘Horrible Cook’ — We Decided to Outplay Him
When my brother and I overheard Dad calling Mom “lazy” and mocking her cooking, we knew we couldn’t let it slide. What began as a simple Christmas gift list evolved into a clever scheme that Dad would never forget.
I never imagined I’d say this, but our family’s Christmas this year felt like it belonged in a sitcom—the kind that makes you grit your teeth before you laugh.
I’m Stella, fourteen, juggling biology homework, constant squabbles with my sixteen-year-old brother Seth, and trying to keep my sneakers white in a house that’s clean only because Mom keeps it that way.
Mom is the one who holds us all together. She works full-time, handles the laundry, keeps the house spotless, and still finds the energy to help Seth with his physics projects, which are basically glitter-glued black holes.
Dad, on the other hand, prides himself as the “man of the house,” which is just a fancy term for doing nothing while watching old action movies. I love him, but he’s the type who kicks back, surfs channels, and comments on everything.
Then Christmas happened, and now Seth and I can’t forget what we overheard.
It was two weeks before Christmas. Seth and I were sneaking through the hallway, hunting for Mom’s stash of wrapped presents.
Instead, we stumbled upon Dad on the phone with Uncle Nick. His voice was loud enough to pierce through the closed door.
“What to get for Lily?” Dad chuckled, as if sharing a joke. “Bro, just kitchen stuff. Mixers, blenders, utensils—you know, things to make her useful in the kitchen. She’s soooo lazy in there.”
I felt a twist in my stomach. Lazy? Seriously? Mom hardly ever sits down. Seth shot me a glance, his jaw clenched. “Dad can’t be serious,” he whispered.
But Dad wasn’t done. “I’m just saying, with better gadgets, maybe she wouldn’t be such a terrible cook. She’s not great at it anyway.”
It was as if the world tilted sideways. Seth and I, who rarely agreed on much, didn’t need words at that moment. We had a plan before we even left the hallway.
On Christmas morning, the house was filled with the scent of pine and cookies. Mom had been up since dawn, baking, her hair in that messy bun she claimed was “practical” but always looked perfect.
She kept refilling the coffee pot and handing out mugs, while Dad lounged by the fire, sipping hot chocolate like he hadn’t just insulted her two weeks ago.
The entire family of 12—grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles—sat in a circle around the tree. Seth and I perched on the couch, trying to suppress our grins. One by one, the presents were unwrapped: socks, gift cards, and ugly sweaters that everyone pretended to love.
Then it was Dad’s turn.
Aunt Patricia handed him a box. “This one’s from me, Tanner,” she said sweetly.
Dad tore off the paper and blinked. “Oh. A fishing rod. Nice.”
“It’s not just nice—it’s top of the line,” Aunt Patricia beamed. “Thought you’d love it.”
Dad chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah… I do. Thanks.”
Seth passed him the next box. “Here, Dad. From me.”
Another fishing rod. Dad forced a smile. “Uh… thanks, son. Really thoughtful.”
I handed him mine next. “Merry Christmas, Dad!” I chirped, feigning innocence.
He unwrapped it slowly, perhaps hoping for something practical like a wallet.
His face fell. “Another one?” He laughed nervously. “Wow. Three’s a charm, huh?”
Then Uncle Nick handed over his gift, followed by Aunt Claire and Grandpa. Each one contained another fishing rod. By the fifth, Dad’s smile was a twitching scowl.
“Wait a minute,” he said, voice rising. “What the hell is this? Fishing rods? Who needs this many fishing rods?”
Meanwhile, Mom’s laughter echoed as she unwrapped the beautifully wrapped designer purse. Her face lit up, glowing as brightly as the Christmas lights around the room.
“Oh my gosh, this purse is beautiful! How did you all know I wanted it?” she asked, running her fingers over the smooth leather.
Uncle Nick grinned from his spot near the fireplace. “We had help. The kids sent us a wishlist.”
Mom’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. “You two did this?” she whispered, looking between me and Seth.
We nodded in unison, trying to stay cool. Seth shrugged, but his grin betrayed him. “You deserve it, Mom.”
Her voice wavered. “Thank you. Both of you. This is the best Christmas I’ve had in years.”
Hearing that made every second of planning worthwhile.
Two weeks ago, after hearing Dad call Mom “lazy” and a “horrible cook,” Seth and I were furious. That night, we stayed up in his room, sketching out “Operation Outplay.”
“Okay,” I said, pacing. “First, we stop this kitchen gadget nonsense. Mom doesn’t even like cooking; she does it because she has to.”
Seth leaned back, arms crossed. “And then we make Dad eat his words.”
I smirked. “Let’s start with an email.”
Together, we drafted a message to every family member joining us for Christmas, explaining our plan and listing gifts Mom would truly appreciate. We also requested that everyone buy Dad a fishing rod, to drive the point home.
Responses flooded in. Aunt Patricia was eager to help, Grandpa found it amusing, and soon everyone was on board.
Fast forward to Christmas morning. After Dad’s meltdown, Mom’s gifts kept coming. The personalized necklace brought tears to her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she said, clutching it. “Thank you, everyone.”
Seth handed her the spa day gift card. “You need a break, Mom. Go get pampered.”
She laughed through her tears. “You two are amazing.”
Meanwhile, Dad sat fuming, surrounded by fishing rods. “Will someone explain this nonsense? I don’t even fish!”
Uncle Nick grinned. “We thought you’d want to start, seeing as Lily puts so much effort into cooking for you.”
That was the spark.
“This is ridiculous!” Dad snapped. “Where’s all the stuff I told you to get for Lily? The kitchen gadgets?”
Mom’s smile faded. “You told them to get me kitchen stuff?” she asked sharply.
Seth crossed his arms. “Yeah, Dad said you were ‘lazy’ in the kitchen.”
Dad’s face turned red. “You two—! That’s not what I meant!”
“Oh really, Dad?” Seth shot back. “Because it sure sounded like that.”
The room fell silent.
Mom’s voice trembled with anger. “So you’ve been complaining about me behind my back? The kids had to step in because you couldn’t appreciate me?”
Dad stammered, “I—I was joking!”
“That’s funny,” Mom said, arms crossed. “Because I’m not laughing.”
Mom placed a fishing rod in Dad’s lap. “Here. You’ll have plenty of time to joke while learning to fish.”
Dad opened his mouth to argue but closed it, defeated.
The rest of the day was perfect. Mom basked in the love and attention while Dad sulked. Later, as the chaos settled, Mom hugged Seth and me tightly.
“You two have no idea how much this means to me,” she said softly. “I don’t need fancy things, but knowing you see how hard I work—it’s everything.”
“Of course we see it, Mom,” I said. “We just wanted you to know we appreciate you.”
Seth added, “And we wanted Dad to realize it too.”
Mom laughed, wiping her eyes. “I love you both. And your plan? Genius.”
The fishing rods weren’t just gifts; they were a lesson Dad wouldn’t forget. He never called Mom “lazy” again. Safe to say, our plan worked perfectly, don’t you think?