Sunday Milkshakes

            There are days that seem absolutely insignificant, and there are days that live in our memories forever. Of course, we all have a good amount of both. One memory of mine is the day my family and I made milkshakes. It was Father’s Day, I think; it was definitely a Sunday. My family gathered at my grandmother's house, directly between mine and my aunt’s house. The plan was to eat homemade Mexican food together, but the plan changed quickly after our arrival. 

            My grandmother had to leave for church that night, and we were all just sitting down to eat. She said, “You guys stay and eat. If you are still here when I get back, that’s okay. If not, take some food with you.”

            She rushed out the door, and we looked at each other as if we didn’t know what to do with our newfound freedom in her home. My brother-in-law broke the ice by scooping some casserole onto his plate and covering it with cheese. Everyone else followed suit. We ate and joked around for about thirty minutes before the greatest idea of all time casually spewed out into the conversation.

            “WE SHOULD MAKE MILKSHAKES!” my brother-in-law yelled. The silence in the suggestion’s wake was deafening. We all looked at each other one at a time as if questioning if we were about to do such a thing. I stood up from my place at the table and escaped into the back room. I returned with a gallon of ice cream from the back-room freezer and a glistening smile on my face.

            My sister jumped to her feet and dug around in the kitchen drawers for an ice cream scoop while my brother-in-law got ice from the freezer. I found the blender and milk and set them on the counter. My sister began putting the ingredients into the blender, and I went to the cupboard for chocolate and caramel syrup.

            That Sunday, we all enjoyed homemade milkshakes as a family. It had been a long time since all of us had come together just to spend time with one another, and it was an amazing time despite the fact that my grandmother had to leave.

            “We can’t leave any evidence. I don’t know how Nana will feel if she finds out we had a good time in her house without her…” my sister said.

            “Right. We should try to put everything back exactly the way it was. Then maybe she won’t notice,” I agreed.

            My brother-in-law wanted evidence that we even made milkshakes at all, so I took a series of pictures of him sitting around my grandmother’s house. He sat in her chair, played with her radio, and made silly faces just for a few pictures that we could look at and laugh at later.

            After the photoshoot, we set to work, cleaning any dish we used and returning anything we pulled from the cupboards. That day, we all came together as a united front to have a good time, and it was one of the best meals we ever spent together.