Sundays at the grill

Back in the day, I routinely worked Sundays. I didn’t mind because I love the pace of “Sundazed” people. Families are leaving church or having brunch, executives are squeezing in a round or two of golf before a packed week, and moms would commit to a workout in the fitness center or a massage before they stared down an overscheduled agenda that started at 8:00 a.m. the next day. (I should point out that I worked at a world class golf club, lest you think that I think this is par for the course (oh, yes, yes, I did) for everyone’s Sunday). I loved being a part of it all, even if my part was contacting the massage therapists or ushering the family to their brunch table while handing out menus. Traffic was light on I-95 both coming to and going from work, where I would listen to Latin Jazz with the windows down. I was vaguely aware that football games were played on this particular day, but I wasn’t routinely home to watch them.

We are transitioning as a family into the place where Sundays mean many things for our family, one of which is that it is a time to reconnect to ourselves and each other before we take on the new week. Football is on now which is both a tragedy and a treat when you love the Miami Dolphins like we do. (There are moments when our kids will ask Daddy why our team doesn’t go down the field at each play “like all the other teams”. Ouch).

I could probably commit to vegetarianism until Sundays, when my husband grills. I know that if I re-read “Eating Animals” I would be able to pass on the meat and just grill veggies. But I haven’t and this is what was happening today on the grill.

It smokes, it sears, it grills…
This is actually supposed to happen…
Spare ribs were on sale…
Oy. Mesquite smoked, dry rubbed and then sauced…


You should know that 1) Yes it smelled just as good as you think it might have and 2) It tasted even better. There are still piles of paperwork to weed through (to find the order forms for picture day and sign off stating if we are opting in or out of the flu vaccine). It’s a good time to check to see if the lunchboxes were emptied out, if the uniforms I washed and put away on Friday weren’t used for dress up and the school shoes still fit (I swear, the feet in this house routinely grow two sizes overnight). I still had to go grocery shopping (to put something in those lunchboxes all week) and take out the garbage. It’s also a good time to clean the fish bowl and track down my keys but Sunday feels like a toast to the week’s accomplishments. Even if the accompanying speech is only something along the lines of, “Well, we are still here”.

I watch the girls curl up under their Dad’s arm to tell him a story about their past week or discuss what they are looking forward to over the next five days. They cheer on caught passes and first downs. We sample food and make notes on how to recreate a dish (or how to improve it next time). As the day comes to a close with bath time and bedtime stories, I hold tight to these simple little moments of true togetherness.


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