When I was a kid, my dad (a butcher) would literally “bring home the bacon” every weekend.
Because he worked 6 days a week, Sunday brunch was sacrosanct as family time. Brunch was an occasion to share significant events from the week, announce important homework assignments, try to convince Dad that we really needed that new bicycle, or report on what we had done over at a friend’s house.
On Sunday mornings, we kids always let our parents sleep in as long as they wanted to. And then, the preparations began.