Sunday Supper

Dear fellow parents:

I know you worked really hard this weekend to do special things with your kids.  Your teens.  Your little ones.  Even your young adults.

I thought about you as I pinched some pennies and figured out how to make tortillas from scratch.  But they burnt a little bit cause I wasn’t good with the timing while the dog was barking and two questions came in from the family room about how to fix a problem with the internet.

Michael was great and finished flipping the tortillas while I cut up some overripe avocado.  A lot of sea salt makes everything taste great, and after about 95 minutes of frying and heating and stirring, we had a fabulous Sunday supper.  For fourteen-and-a-half minutes we talked about next week’s schedule.  We rallied together.  In between homework and project deadlines.  We talked about who needs to drive where and about the amount of gas in car tanks.

Dear fellow parents, I remember when the conversations were about school projects and supplies which are needed in the next 12 hours.  I remember when a meal was interrupted with wailing about soggy bread or a sibling whose feet are too close.  We had no wailing tonight.  Only voices and agendas.  For fourteen-and-a-half minutes four people jostled for attention in the conversation.  Dad was chastised.  Mom was cut off.  Because we do not understand all the nuances of Instagram.  But connections were made as refried beans and salsa were passed around.

Tonight I watched my young adults slurp down fajitas.  Yes, I sighed when the phones came out.  I was that parent, the one who asked that the devices be set aside.  And yes, they listened.  They put down the phones.  Because they really are decent human beings.  They just get caught up – like we all do – in the noise.

Dear fellow parents, for a minute I got frustrated that no one mentioned my homemade guacamole.   And we did not bow our heads to pray, to bless the food. (All day I had dreamed about the potential of this meal.) But I stopped myself mid-gripe.  Because I know that this evening was one night of a long stream of nights in which we are connected.  The hundreds of Sunday suppers set out, the thousands of meals I have cooked over 23 years of parenthood, over 30 years of marriage are like tiny pearls.  Each one random, likely to slip away in memory.  But over the weeks, months, years, decades, they hold together as a gorgeous strand of family identity. And the mystery which we call God was there.

Dear fellow parents.  Take heart.  The fourteen-and-a-half minutes matter.

With love and respect,

Jen