This summer I started a tradition of writing a weekly email to my sister and brother. Although we see each other several times a year and speak regularly on the phone, this was my way of saying that life may be busy, but not too busy for them. They are, after all, my sister and brother.
Dear Ua and David,
Yesterday, being Sunday, was all about church and lunch with i nonni.
Lunch is an established tradition by now, one which Mom started many years ago when she suggested that we eat together every Sunday. I was all for it; after all, some of our best childhood memories involve il pranzo around Nonna's table.
"Good, it will be a beautiful tradition," says Mom, when I agreed. "We'll take turns, one Sunday at our house, then the next Sunday at your house."
I stared at her.
I had been sandbagged. Hoodwinked. Bamboozled.
"But NONNA used to cook every Sunday!" I protested. "THAT was the tradition! Lunch at NONNA'S ... which is now YOU!"
"Well," says Mom, very pragmatically. "I am a modern Nonna."
And so, just like that, a new and "modern" tradition began.
Yesterday was my Sunday. I may have been tricked into this, but it's actually worked out fine, mainly because I don't even feel guilty anymore when Mom goes all out with her meals, and I ... well, sometimes I don't. Like yesterday: Italian Muffuletta , tomato/cucumber salad, asiago and sun-dried tomato potato chips, and torta di mele served with espresso. That's it. I assembled the muffuletta in two seconds, threw everything else on the table, and ... finito! At least that was better than the time I ordered Little Caesar's.
What can I say? Sometimes I don't feel like cooking.
And if Mom can be "modern" ... well, so can I.
Too bad you guys don't live closer because then we could ALL take turns.
That's it for today, except that, just like I predicted, Timothy had his first-back-to-school-reality-hits-meltdown on Thursday evening. He was tired, he was hungry, school was dumb, and he was not going to eat the green peas because everyone knows green peas are gross. Sheesh. Early bedtime that night.
Maybe he needs some Avengers light-up sneakers like Ethan's.
Hugs, kisses, and all that jazz,