Sundays…

We used to work seven days a week…then we burned out after two years. As business owners, we felt as though we needed to work all the time while building our business, The Vermont Spätzle Company.

Sundays have always been my favorite cooking day of the week, beginning with a nice leisurely breakfast, something we don’t have time for the rest of the week. Most days, we chug a cup of coffee, grab something unremarkable and eat it standing up at the kitchen island before racing out to the production kitchen. 

We always had Sunday dinners when I was a kid..not at our house because that wasn’t my mother’s thing. Eating at someone else’s house or restaurant was right up her alley. My father didn’t give two shits where we ate as long as my mother was happy.

We ate at my grandmother Mema’s house, various friends of my parent’s homes, or out. I liked eating at Mema’s the most because she spent time with me after dinner playing cards. She wanted to play cards with me; she didn’t do it out of obligation or because I pestered her. I wasn’t allowed to pester anyone; I spoke when spoken to and kept myself busy most of the time. 

When our boys were young, I was a stay-at-home mom. Marty and I made sacrifices for this to happen, but it was important to us. I took my “job” very seriously. I made proper Sunday dinners every week because I wanted the boys to remember Sunday dinners like I did. When I went back to work, I didn’t have time to do shit on Sundays but clean, do laundry, throw something together quickly to eat, and get everything organized for the upcoming school week. This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I didn’t enjoy my Sundays at all.

Our Sundays are bittersweet, quiet, and different now that Noah & Sam are grown-ups. Occasionally, when they are around, they have Sunday dinner with us. We rarely eat together anymore since Noah has his own place and Sam works crazy hours as an RN. When everything falls into place, I have a happy heart feeding my whole family a delicious dinner. 

Nowadays, Sundays may be our only day of “rest,” but we still have projects to do around the house, but now it’s only for the two of us. The projects can wait if need be, not like when the boys were little. I always carve out time to cook a proper Sunday dinner made with love, even if it’s just the two of us. 

Sunday dinners still feel special to me, especially if I use a dish or pan from my grandmothers. I guess I’m just a nostalgic mush when it comes to some things. My boys never got to eat Sunday dinner with either of our grandparents; hell, they rarely ate Sunday dinners with their own grandparents, which was too bad. I am sure to them all those Sunday dinners were just another meal cooked by Mama Julz but whatever.

Hopefully, someday they will want to come here on Sundays with their families because they want to, not because I pester them; I still try not to pester people. It would mean the world to me to cook for their families and play cards after dinner with the little ones; because I want to, not because I have to, just like Mema did with me. 

Whenever I write about Mema, I cry because she was such a special person in my childhood years. I guess I am a bigger mush than I let on. Looking and thinking back to those times bring back some wonderful memories I had with her.