So much so we began Family Sundays. This day occurs the first Sunday of every month whereby I force *I mean* beckon my family and extendeds to come spend time with us at our house - or theirs, as the year goes on - and enjoy a good ol' fashioned Sunday dinner. Or a bowl of cereal. Whatever. I just want us to get together more regularly.
I like my family.
And I remember as a kid tons of family gatherings - my grandmother always fretting over what we'd be eating. Giant skillets of fried chicken. Homemade mashed potatoes and gravy. O.M.G. My mouth is watering. We wouldn't clear breakfast before she'd be planning dinner (the mid-day meal when you were Country). You know what I mean, don't you? Your grandmother was the same. But we don't do that. I mean, sure I concern myself with what I'll be eating for lunch (that mid-day meal now that we're City), but we don't sit down to Sunday dinner. Well, at least we didn't.
But I asked my family, and they complied. So at least once a month, my kids are getting to know who they are - via they're family. The way that I know who I am. Because I know from where I came.
Here we are yesterday, a.k.a. SuperBowl Sunday. Yesterday's menu was chili. Not so much Sunday dinner-esque. But I still thought the scent of savory spices and corn bread wafting through the house made for good olfactory memories.
And keep in mind, this was at the end - just before the Saints kicked the Colts' butt. So we're looking pretty over the whole Sunday Family dinner thing. Or we ate too much chicken dip and cheesy salsa. (Look - even the dog's passed out in the corner.)
Nevertheless, I love Family Sundays.