Slurped Milk

I don't know where people learn their manners, but in my house growing up we were taught a lot of things and slurping milk was not one of them.

My parents dropped us kids off at a church members home for the weekend so they could go somewhere.  This family lived on a farm.  They had goats, chickens, a big barn with a swing, and a lot of bails of hay.  But what part of living on a farm means your house needs to smell of sour milk, and stench?  Just being in this house made me not want to be in there.

This family was nice, but the smell told me they were gross.  For breakfast we were all sitting at the table eating some slop of some kind, and drinking milk.  Our family is not a big milk drinker, but regardless, we had milk.  My little sister accidentally spilled her milk.  The mom was a little bothered, but by all means that milk would not go to waste.  She leaned over the table, put her lips to the milk, and started slurping it all up.  WOW, what kind of manners was that.  We were all shocked, and wanted to laugh.

I am sure they spent hours milking their cows, or goats to get that milk.  So I guess I can appreciate her not wanting to waste that 8 oz of it, but I have not lived in her shoes, and frankly I would rather not.

Sundays in our Home

Sundays were the day of the Lord.  I recall waking up to church music playing from the radio, or listening to the Tabernacle Choir.  I liked the state of mind it put me in.  Sundays always felt like Sunday.  Our family would be in a rush to get dressed so we could get on the road as not to be late for church.  We would all ride in our huge van with all seat taken by adults and us young kids sitting in the far back on the floor.  With two Sister Wives (Aunts), and their kids, we had a full van load.

Once Church was over we always had to stay in our Sunday dress all day.  My dad would say, "If you can't do it in a dress, then don't do it."  With that said, we rode our bikes in our dresses, jumped on the trampoline in our dress, and whatever we wanted to do, mostly to prove a point.  

There was no TV on Sundays.  My dad would sit in his office reading, or studding the scriptures, Book or Mormon, or Doctrine and Covenants, or talking to other church members, while my mom and "Aunt" would either be cooking or relaxing with some cross stitch or knitting stuff.  

Sundays we always ate together at our long table, with Dad sitting at the head of the table and Sister Wives to his sides.  We had some super cool chairs that had a little bench on the back that would fold down, so we could kneel on them for prayer.  I don't recall using them much, it was more of a novelty. 

Mom always covered the table in a white table cloth and the kids helped set the table with our nice china, and crystal glasses ,full of ice water, that my dad bought on his LDS mission in Sweden.  The kids always worked together to set the table.  Knife and spoon on the right, and fork on the left.  Knife by the plate facing inward, and glass placed above the knife by the plate.  

Once all the food was prepared and put in nice serving bowls or on nice platters, it was all placed on the table.  We all sat, prayed and passed the food to the right until everyone had had it.  It was polite to hold the bowl for the person next to you while they dished up, then took it and passed it.  It was never OK to reach across someone's plate.  We always asked to, "please pass the peas".  And don't eat until everyone has food.

Once we were finished eating, it was never OK to just excuse yourself.  We always asked it we could be excused, but usually we all sat at the table and had conversation until most were finished.

I appreciated growing up with family dinners, and learning table etiquette, and how to set a table.  It was important that we have manners, and to know how to set a table.  Chewing with your mouth closed, and not talking with your mouth full, was important to remember. We always ate together, but Sundays we used the china, crystal and table cloth.  Sundays were formal.