‘We can’t do Sunday: we’re going to Mum’s. It means so much to her, and she gets upset if we don’t go.’ It is an explanation that seems to settle the matter. There is a mother who must not be disappointed, a lunch to attend and a habit that, over time, has acquired the force of a rule. Sometimes the person saying it almost seems to be describing a sacrifice: we have to go; we do it for her.
For me, that explanation is not enough. I can readily believe that a mother wants to see her children and grandchildren. But I wonder why that wish must always be fulfilled in the same way: at her house, at her table, with her doing the organising and everyone else turning up. Before deciding that it is all done out of love for Mum, I would like to know whether we have considered the effort it takes her, too.
Sunday lunch itself is not the problem. Gathering around a familiar table can nurture relationships, conversations and precious memories. The problem begins when no one feels free to ask whether the arrangement still works for everyone, especially when the person left with the most work is the very person in whose name the habit is defended.
Sunday already spoken for
For a couple or a family, knowing that every Sunday is spoken for means having part of your life organised by someone else, or by a decision made long ago that no one ever revisits. Inviting friends becomes difficult, a day out calls for explanations, and a weekend away feels as though you are taking something from someone. Even wanting to stay at home and do nothing can become a request you have to justify.
Then there are both sides of the family, whose expectations may pile up or compete. The couple risks being left with whatever time remains after everyone else has been satisfied. Children grow up, too, and their interests and commitments change: a Sunday routine that worked well years ago may no longer suit life as it is now. Yet it carries on, because changing the calendar is taken to mean a change of heart.
I do not think every family commitment is an unfair restriction. Making room for an important celebration, giving up an outing for someone who needs us, being there even when we would have preferred to do something else: these are acts of respect. But an occasion we choose to make time for is different from a weekly obligation with no end in sight. Respect should not require everyone to give up the possibility of ever making different plans.
Lunch begins long before the guests arrive
Anyone arriving at midday sees the table ready. Before that, though, someone has decided what to cook, checked what was missing, done the shopping, carried the bags, prepared the food and put the house in order. Afterwards, when the guests have gone, there will still be dishes to wash, leftovers to put away and things to tidy up. That lunch has taken up part of Saturday and will go on taking up part of Sunday.
There is the money, too. Feeding a large group every week can put a strain on the budget, even when the person paying never mentions it. And our energy does not stay the same over the years: what was once easy to prepare can become demanding, even if the wish to have everyone around remains unchanged.
This work often falls mainly to the mother, but it concerns anyone who takes care of the home and welcomes people into it. Parents, too, might have friends to invite, a walk to take, a trip to plan, or simply a morning when they would like to get up a little later. They do not stop having lives of their own because they have become grandparents.
The table does not set itself, even when the person setting it is happy to do so. It is possible to love that time together and find it tiring. The joy of hugging the grandchildren does not make the backache, the time or the expense any less real. If all we see is the smile that greets us, we risk missing everything else.
‘It’s what she wants’: have we actually asked?
This is where that opening remark makes me suspicious. ‘It’s what Mum wants’ may describe a sincere wish. It may also be a convenient answer, repeated without anyone checking whether it still holds true. She loves cooking, she wants us all there, she would not have it any other way. But have we ever seriously offered her an alternative? Or do we know her answer so well that we no longer ask the question?
It is not enough to ask, ‘Is it too much for you?’ when everything is ready and she has already worn herself out looking after us. At that point, it may be difficult to say yes, if only to avoid spoiling lunch. A concrete offer says more: ‘Come to ours this Sunday. We’ll do the shopping and the cooking.’ Then we are not asking her to give up seeing her children; we are offering her a way to see them without having to serve them.
I do not claim to know what every mother wants. Some really do prefer to host, enjoy the preparations and can manage them without difficulty. If everyone has a choice, and the work is recognised and shared, there is no need to change a happy custom. What I question is the idea that Mum’s wishes are enough of an explanation to excuse us from giving any further thought to the consequences.
We also need the courage to look at what suits us. Not having to shop, cook, spend money or clean up are real advantages. We can appreciate them and say thank you without thinking ourselves bad people. We become less than honest when we hide them and describe lunch solely as a duty we fulfil out of love for our host. We give ourselves credit for turning up and leave out the part where someone looks after us.
‘Come to ours this time’
Let us imagine a different Sunday, then. The parents wake up without having to start cooking. They have not spent the previous day filling the fridge for everyone. They can read, pop out for a while and take their time getting ready. At the agreed time, they go to their children’s house and find someone saying, ‘Sit down, it’s nearly ready.’
It is a simple scene, but it changes a great deal. For once, they can be the guests: relaxed, ready to eat, without having to follow the conversation from the kitchen or get up every few minutes. They can stay at the table with their grandchildren while someone else checks the oven. They have not lost their family lunch; they have gained a different way of taking part in it.
Perhaps we have come to associate a mother so closely with her role as host that we forget how much she might enjoy being welcomed into someone else’s home. We keep praising what she prepares, and perhaps it never occurs to us to prepare something for her. Even a simple dish can tell her that she does not have to take care of everything all the time to hold an important place in the family.
If being together is what matters, the children’s home can be the right place too. The bond should not depend on the same food, care and willingness to help always flowing in the same direction.
When disappointment becomes a rule
There is also the case, though, of a mother who really does want everyone at her house every Sunday and reacts badly to any change. There is no point pretending that this difficulty does not exist. Her disappointment may be sincere: a habit can provide company, reassurance and something to look forward to during the week. It deserves to be heard, not brushed aside.
But listening does not mean giving that disappointment the power to decide how everyone spends every Sunday. Adult children and their parents can love one another and want to make different plans. If a day out, an invitation from friends or a day to yourself becomes evidence of a lack of love, lunch stops being a gathering and becomes a roll call.
You can say with affection, ‘We’re not coming on Sunday, but we’d like to see you another day,’ or, ‘We enjoy spending time with you; come to ours this time.’ And then follow through on that offer. Freedom should not become an excuse to disappear, but nor should we promise to be there every time just to avoid causing any disappointment. A relationship also needs to be able to weather a change without feeling that it has been cast aside.
The one who says ‘enough’ is not always the one dividing the family
The burden of some habits only becomes visible when someone stops keeping them going. A fresh pair of eyes can notice what everyone else has grown used to: some people arrive, eat and say their goodbyes; someone else is left with a kitchen to clean. Lunch is over for the guests, but not for the person who welcomed them.
As long as no one objects, all this can look like harmony. Then someone says ‘this cannot go on’ and risks being blamed for the problem. Instead, it would be fair to ask what they are disrupting: the pleasure of being together, or the certainty that the same people will always do the work? An apparent peace does not mean that everyone is at ease. Sometimes it simply means that someone has learnt not to complain.
Joining a family does not mean automatically taking on the duties others expect of you, either. Family habits need to be agreed with the people who will have to sustain them, rather than presented as rules that have already been settled. Someone who says they do not want to cook and tidy up for everyone every week is not necessarily rejecting their company: they may be asking for their own time to count too.
That does not make every ‘enough’ justified. Asking to share the work is one thing; insisting that someone cut ties with their loved ones is another. The boundary should concern the work that is taken for granted, without becoming a ban on seeing one another. And anyone who wants to host their relatives can take responsibility for organising things, instead of automatically expecting someone else to do it.
When a regular family lunch comes to an end, the family therefore has an opportunity to show what it wants to preserve. They can find another way to get together, return the invitation, help with the preparations and stay to clear the table. If every alternative is rejected, however, it is worth asking how much of the gathering was about enjoying one another’s company and how much was about convenience. We need not presume to know every reason why people have grown apart, but nor should we assume that the person who asked for greater respect was the one who divided the family.
Changing the habit without weakening the bond
No single arrangement is right for every family. You can take turns hosting, meet more or less often, share the preparations, bring lunch ready to eat and take care of the tidying up as well. When space, health or travel make it difficult to be guests elsewhere, you can change the workload even while sitting around the same table.
Reciprocity does not require perfectly equal turns. One family may have more space and another more time; someone can contribute to the shopping bill, someone can cook, someone can take on the organising. What matters is that these differences do not become a reason to leave everything on the same shoulders indefinitely. And that no one receiving help is humiliated by people keeping a tally of favours.
Even offering a hand can be too little if it means waiting for Mum to tell us what to do every time. The thinking is still hers: remembering what is missing, handing out tasks, checking that everything is running smoothly. Taking responsibility for something means taking on the preparation as well, without giving her another job supervising it.
Perhaps the most important change is to stop asking only how to avoid upsetting her and start asking how to make things better for her. They are different questions. The first can lead us to keep repeating everything for a quiet life; the second requires us to look at the person, even when the habit suits us very well.
What I would like to leave my children
My children, I would like all three of you to recognise love in the work that comes with it, too. When someone welcomes you, look at the table, but also think about what happened before you arrived and what will still need doing after you leave. You do not need to feel guilty for having been invited. You do need to avoid behaving as though you are entitled to it all.
Take care of your family relationships. Do not guard your time so jealously that you never want to give any of it, but do not measure affection solely by the number of Sundays spent in the same place. A thoughtful visit, an invitation you have organised, a practical offer of help can say much more than being there and resenting it.
Above all, do not use someone’s generosity to explain why they should carry on doing everything. ‘She enjoys it’ does not stop you from easing her load. ‘She doesn’t want help’ does not stop you from suggesting another occasion when you can welcome her, and then respecting her answer. And ‘She’s always done it this way’ does not mean that she cannot want something different today.
When you are the ones who want everyone around, remember the freedom of the people you invite, too. Let them know that the door is open, without making them feel that loving you means having to come through it every Sunday. The pleasure of getting together deserves care on both sides.
Do not stop at saying that Mum wants you at her table. Ask yourselves when someone last set a table for her. And if you cannot remember, you can begin with a simple invitation: ‘Come to ours on Sunday. We’ll take care of everything this time.’
Papy