It was 6:15pm and our family was just settling in for dinner. This was exciting news this particular evening because I found time earlier this week to search for a recipe, go to Whole Foods, Safeway and Upper Crust Bakery for the precise ingredients, and prepare a not-previously-frozen special birthday dinner for my eldest son. Not a small feat when you consider all the other things going on this week – the volunteer hours I agreed to provide for the school Book Fair long before my calendar became jammed, the car repair I had to tend to thanks to an errant, day-dreaming deer, the out-of-town guests that announced their visit with one days’ notice, and the leaking shower in the master bathroom.

Perhaps because they knew that chocolate cake was in their future, all the members of my family came to the table the first time they were called. The food was still warm, the drinks had been poured, the wrong forks had been exchanged for better ones and no one, had announced their distain for any of the food items displayed on the table. Just as I settled into my seat and began to relish the moment, the doorbell rang.

Just like that the sound of two chimes interrupted my transition to the respite of family dinner. While it’s difficult to make out the facial features through the waterfall patterned glass of the front door, I could tell by the small stature and pink coat that the eight-year-old who lives down the street was calling during our sacred dinner hour. Despite the fact that our front door solicitors can clearly see figures seated at the kitchen table, we generally ignore dinner interruptions. But because it was cold outside, and our caller was, after all, only eight, my husband opened the door, greeted her warmly and invited her in. She held in her hand an order form for the reusable shopping bags she was selling.

Look, I understand that marching bands, girl scouts, booster clubs and schools need to raise money. I get that. What irks me are the dinner-hour solicitations made by children (and adults, for that matter) with whom I have little or no relationship. I will gladly support the fundraisers of the kids that have been to my house or invited my children to theirs for a playdate. The kids who have helped shovel snow, watched our hamster while we out of town or played with my kids at the neighborhood pool can certainly include a bake sale or two among the myriad of social interactions we’ve shared. But for the rest of you who don’t know my last name – and you know who you are – I have a proposal. How about we just stop the fundraising madness. I will agree to buy an extra $50 worth of my children's cookie, wrapping paper and holiday candle offereings if you, the parent of the unfamiliar, 6:00pm, child solicitor, do the same. Maybe that way we can all enjoy our family dinners without commercial interruption.