Sundays at Grandma's

We always look forward to Sundays. I remember waking up to the smell of Pine-Sol. Mom was mopping the floors, creating that distinct clean scent that signaled the beginning of our weekend routine. My brother and I would rush to the kitchen and make ourselves a glass of cereal. Yes, you read that right; back in the late 1970s, we had tall plastic cups that we ate our Fruit Loops out of instead of traditional bowls. The colorful rings would float in the milk, creating a sweet, fruity flavor that we savored with each spoonful.

We would eagerly take off to the living room to watch Sunday morning cartoons, settling in for our weekly entertainment ritual. We were around 8 years old then, full of energy and anticipation to watch a favorite shows. I remember sitting on the hardwood floors in front of the TV, sometimes with a pillow to make ourselves comfortable. We knew we had limited time to watch cartoons because soon church service would be coming on the television. Back then, the only time cartoons aired was Saturday and Sunday mornings, making these viewing opportunities precious and eagerly anticipated throughout the week.

While we enjoyed our morning cartoons, Dad would be outside tinkering around with his tools in the barn or working on the family car, or working in the garden, and Mom continued cleaning the house, preparing it for the week ahead. The sounds of her sweeping and organizing would mix with the animated voices from the television, creating the soundtrack of our Sunday mornings.

At noon, we would pile into the family car and head to Grandma's house to eat Sunday dinner together and play with our cousins. These family gatherings were a cornerstone of our childhood. Grandma always prepared a feast with traditional Sunday dishes—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, friend okra, and fresh rolls or cornbread that filled the house with a warm, inviting aroma. For dessert, Grandma always had something sweet to eat, a homemade cake or pie or some kind of candy displayed in her special glass dishes. We always loved going and staying until dark, making the most of every minute of family time.

After dinner, we would play with our cousins and the neighborhood kids, forming a lively group that moved between indoor games and outdoor adventures. During the day, we would ride bikes around the block again and again and up and down the dead-end street, feeling the freedom of exploration within our safe boundaries. The neighborhood became our playground, with every corner offering possibilities for new games and adventures.

Sometimes we'd organize group games, playing kickball in someone's yard, with trees or parked cars serving as bases. Other times, we'd gather for Red Rover or 1-2-3 Red Light, games that required no equipment but plenty of energy and laughter. Hide and Seek was another favorite, with the neighborhood offering countless hiding spots behind bushes, trees, and parked cars. As dusk approached, we'd often switch to playing Tag, running through yards and around houses until we were called home by parents standing on porches with the porch lights on, their voices carrying through the evening air.

It was always so much fun, these simple games creating memories that would last a lifetime. The lack of electronic distractions meant we focused entirely on each other and the games we created, developing social skills and friendships that defined our childhoods.

On summer days, when the heat made us seek special treats, we would make homemade ice cream at Grandma's house. We had the old-fashioned churn that you had to turn with a handle, requiring patience and teamwork as we took turns cranking. The anticipation built as we watched the mixture slowly transform into creamy ice cream. Grandma would prepare by filling up gallon milk jugs with water and freezing them days in advance. Then us grandkids would wrap the frozen jugs in towels and beat them with hammers to break up the ice needed for the ice cream maker. The cracking sound of ice breaking and our excited voices filled the backyard as we prepared for our sweet reward.

The flavors were simple—vanilla, strawberry, or peach when they were in season—but the taste was incomparable to anything store-bought. The process itself was as enjoyable as the result, bringing us together in a shared activity that culminated in a delicious treat enjoyed on the porch as the summer evening cooled.

Those were the days—days of simple pleasures, family connections, and childhood adventures that shaped who we would become. Looking back now, I realize how these Sunday traditions taught us about family bonds, creativity, and finding joy in the ordinary moments that, strung together, created an extraordinary childhood.

Vivian Rosewood