It’s Sunday morning.
As the crunch echoes through my head with every bite of my morning cereal free of gluten, sugar, wheat, nuts and any trace of deliciousness; the high pitch shrills of the neighbour’s children ricochet through the quietness as they repetitiously bomb dive the family pool with absolute delight.
It takes me back.
Growing up, our family had a Sunday morning ritual and it consisted of this….a flurry of madness.
Religiously every Sunday morning my brothers, sisters and I were woken from our weekend slumber and marched into the bathroom for a tag team of washing faces, cleaning teeth and frocking up in our Sunday best. Rain, hail, shine or feigned belly ache, rarely a Sabbath would pass without our family honouring this day with an inbred respect that had been handed down from generation to generation.
Much has changed since those days where my fondest memory of a handkerchief was the one I wore on my head walking through that grand front door of our local church.
Sunday’s still remain that sacred day no matter how we choose to embrace it. It is the sort of day when you can put the past week firmly behind and take a deep breath before walking into the week that lay ahead.
But one thing remains. Sunday has always had that sense of wanting to spend time with family. A day to enjoy our uniqueness by bringing loved ones together be it around a dinner table, at a barbie, embracing an outing or via the wonders of a mobile phone and skype.
My little family is all grown up now with busy lives of their own. But today the kids and I are off to share a meal and catch a movie. I’m really excited. I really don’t care what we eat or what we see. It’s all about our Sunday time together.
I’m half thinking of plonking a hanky on my head as I walk through those cinema doors just out of respect to a past family tradition that I’m a little sad to say, I did not continue with my own children. But I’m sure of one thing. As I ceremoniously place that little piece of lace cloth on my noodle, I will no doubt hear the shrills of my own kids ricochet through the line at the cinema as they squeal at me, ‘Mum – what on earth are you doing!!!’
So, let me ask you. What Sunday ritual do you remember from your childhood?
Have you preserved that story as part of your collection of ‘Button Jar Stories’?