Today is Friday which has pretty-much become “Pizza Night” in our household. I must admit, it’s the one meal the boys truly eat with gusto! So, on the way home from work, I stop by this quaint little Italian restaurant and order two medium pies (they don’t have “small” pizzas, just “medium” and “large,” which of course, makes the “medium” pizza a de facto “small,” but don’t get me started on the parlance of pizza parlors), one plain cheese for the boys, and on the other, something for me and Cindy–usually pepperoni and something else.
Anyway, when I arrive home, the boys immediately recognize the pizza boxes and get jump-up-and-down excited at the thought of the cheesy, gooey, delicious party about to hit their tiny palates. As I open the box, they make a bee-line for their little table and sit down on their little chairs. Then I take the biggest slice and cut it into smaller slices suitable for a 2-year-old. Of course, this exercise essentially transforms the classic, and personally preferred, triangular New York-style pizza slice into the square Chicago-style, but the boys are understandably oblivious to the nuance, and frankly couldn’t possibly care any less.
So, with juice in hand, they literally gobble-down the pizza morsels on their plates, and once empty, they bring the plate to daddy for more. The second slice is eaten more slowly and with much less enthusiasm, before draining the juice cup and transitioning to another all-important activity. At this point, the previously all-consuming desire for pizza has become nothing more than the distant memory of just another dinner.
Until next week when once again the moon hits their eye with a big pizza-pie!
(with apologies to Dean Martin :-))