sunday dinner

my mom made a big dinner almost every sunday when we were kids. she would usually start cooking after lunch and the whole house would fill with the most wonderful smells that could find you anywhere. from hiding under your covers cramming for a test, to jumping in a just-raked pile of crunchy leaves to snoozing on the couch while adventures in baby-sitting played in the background. the fall and winter months were usually reserved for the likes of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, slow-cooked chili and cornbread, vats of goulash or my grandmother's famous spanish rice with extra bacon. the food was always delicious and served piping hot at  6 p.m. on the button. dinner was never served in shifts. no. every item was done at the exact same time to the exact specifications of its diners. as a matter of fact, dinner was always done like that, whether it was sunday or not. my mother was and is a wizard in the kitchen. she managed to make tasty food that we all loved and somehow mitigated most of our anxieties and bickering for at least 30 minutes.


while sometimes i suffer from the exact science of timing chicken nuggets and tater tots, i think i've got the dinner ritual down. i picked up some chinese take out last friday that had firms plans to accompany cosby show reruns on the couch. but before i could even take off my coat, atticus walked in to the kitchen and said, "eat, dinner, sit" and pulled himself into a chair at the dinner table. i smiled broadly at him and nelson and i joined him at the table. he knows what dinner time is all about. it's about taking the time to take a break, share a meal and sit together as a family. and it's just as important for sunday night dinner as it is on lo mein and dumplings night.