Tradition. Predictability. Routine. It was a great way to spend my childhood, a great way for my parents to raise me. Those traditions are gone. For better or worse, Sunday have evolved into our new traditions.
I savored this time alone. I knew what the day had in store for me. A four hour round trip to the southern Chicago suburbs to retrieve my son from his father's with a deadline to arrive home in time for my daughter at 6pm from her father's. She always comes home having been fed dinner, a nice bonus that I thank the universe for. But picking up my son at 3:30 meant dinner on the fly. Jimmy Johns somehow seems healthier than a burger and fries. So at 5:30, back in Rockford, we drove through Jimmy Johns and took our supper home. Slim five for him and a regular five for me. The difference? His has zero vegetables.
And that sandwich pictured above is what was for dinner, this 12th day of 2014.