Dessert every night

We all have childhood memories we cherish and sometimes a certain smell, a particular song or even a “comfort food” will bring those memories rushing forward.

For me, it seems to always be that comfort food. That also might explain the three different sizes of jeans in my closet, too.

I didn’t grow up in a financially prosperous household, but I grew up in one with a lot of love and three generations, so dinners together in the kitchen are some of my most vivid memories.

When my grandparents were married, my grandmother had one request of my grandfather – that he would never go down into the coalmine again. As a family man, she wanted him safely above ground.

My grandfather, on the other hand, had two small requests of her – he wanted a real tablecloth on the table each night and dessert with dinner.

They both kept their promises.

I remember those tablecloths, how they felt, what patterns they had. I even know where every major town is in Arizona because of one particular tablecloth.

Every night, there was dessert, just like grandma promised. It may have been as simple as sliced peaches in a dessert dish, but it was dessert. I still have those little glass dessert dishes.

There was nothing like the four of us, sitting at that small table in the kitchen laughing and talking about our days.

We didn’t always have a tablecloth, but my children grew up sitting together as a family at the kitchen table, too.

I hope they remember those meals – my ex-husband teaching my son how to blow peas out of his nose, my daughter pulling the Barbie doll out of her birthday cake.

Aaaah, memories.