Are We Eating Again?

Unfortunately Sunday at Grandma’s does not happen anymore or at least as frequently as it did when I was younger. Today, kids are too busy with activities to even be able to make plans for ten minutes on the weekend. The weekends consist of waking up, having breakfast, running errands, then taking the kids from one activity to another with a play date in between. The activities include soccer, dance, gymnastics, piano lessons, basket weaving class and if your kid is really talented under water basket weaving class. Non-stop action that sometimes has you wishing the weekend was over. Okay, maybe not wishing the weekend goodbye but wishing you had a thrid day just to decompress.

When I was younger we would go to my grandparents house right after Sunday mass. As soon as we pulled into their driveway you could smell grandma’s sauce cooking in the kitchen. I would run in to the house, say hello to my grandparents, aunts and uncles then go play with my cousins until dinner. When we got called for dinner my grandfather made sure we washed our hands before sitting at the table. It was funny how I would always tell him my hands were clean until I washed them in their white sink and saw all the brown dirt mix with the soap as I lathered. We would then sit down to what we would call a typical Sunday meal, to others a feast and enjoy conversations and good laughs. We would eventually play the game “Telephone”. I would like to take this opportunity to say thank you to all my aunts and uncles for tolerating this game as I am finding out now what they went through back then. After dinner we would run outside, play again until dessert. After dessert I would always ask if we were going to eat again. This was my way of gauging how much longer my cousins and I would be able to play before we would have to go home. “Are we eating again” is a quote we still say when we get together on occasions and reminisce the good old times.

Every once in a while, well after dessert, my grandfather would ask if we would want some pizza but it was the way he would ask “Hey kids, how about a nice pizza pie?” Well, we would get excited because we all loved pizza and knew it meant we would be extending the night because we would be eating again. See the method to our madness; we did not want to go home. But I love the adjective “nice”. I laugh ‘til this day, “a nice pizza pie”. What’s funnier is that I find myself saying that to my kids. He would call the pizzeria and order a large pie. He would tell the pizza man to cut the large pie into six slices because he would not be able to finish all eight. I could only imagine the look on the pizza man’s face when he heard my grandfather say that.

I am sure most families have their own stories to tell about the “good old days” of when their family was younger. To me those memories are one of my most prized possessions and I am very grateful for them and my family.