Pizza from Utah

I actually got Zoë to take a nap this afternoon. Of course, she napped on top of me so it's not like I was able to get anything done but I was able to send the kids outside with my "mother's helpers" while I held her (and maybe dozed off for a while, myself). It sure is nice to have a couple of nearly-ten-year-olds around (Rachel and her friend Meadow) who are willing to keep an eye on, well, Benjamin (that boy should always have at least two pairs of eyes on him at all times). 

When I woke up, Andrew sent me a message warning me not to make dinner because a "grandma-sponsored" dinner was on its way. I was literally busting out the pots and pans when I heard the notification so I'm glad I dropped everything to check it. Dinner not-made-by-me was just what we needed. With Daddy out of town I've been feeding the children things like homemade vegetable soup. 

The horror!

With their blossoming vocabularies I don't just get told my dinner is "gross." The kids tend to spring for heavier-handed words. Miriam once described my food as "vile." Yes, vile. 

It does wonders for my cooking confidence.

Furthermore a not-made-by-me dinner was just what I needed after flying solo for four days. 

Andrew's been in Utah, visiting his alma mater, giving presentations, meeting with professors, hitting up old bosses, probing for employment opportunities, networking, and, of course, visiting as many family members as possible (and hopefully getting some work done on his dissertation). 

Here he is with my parents; he enjoyed an evening of root beer floats at their house:

 

And here he is snuggling our newest little nephew, Carter, while out to dinner with his siblings and parents:

You guys—that li'l mohawk, those chubby cheeks, all the cuteness! I die!

Anyway, all that was to say that right around dinnertime a pizza guy came and handed me a couple boxes of pizza. My children started drifting in from all over the neighbourhood. Benjamin actually was standing there with the delivery guy when I opened the door.

"What!? PIZZA! Why are you bringing us pizza?!" Benjamin wanted to know.

"That's my job," the guy said.

Benjamin took a little box from him and danced it over to the table. Soon Miriam, who'd run off to get Rachel from Meadow's house, arrived at the door as well.

"Was he supposed to bring us pizza?" Miriam wanted to know.

"Yes," I laughed.

"How?" she demanded. "WHY?"

Clearly we get delivery, oh, so very often (not).

"Grandma sent it for us," I said.

"Why?" Rachel asked.

"ALL THE WAY FROM UTAH!?!?!?!" Benjamin screamed.

"Because she loves us and she wanted to give us pizza," I answered. "That delivery guy must have had some tip, driving all the way from Utah just to deliver pizza, huh? And it's still warm!"

"Grandma just sent us pizza because she loves us?" Rachel asked, rolling her eyes and investigating the pizza with suspicion. "I don't buy it. What's in this small box? DESSERT PIZZA?! Awesome! Yup. No way you did this. Grandma does love us!"

Sheesh. Where is their loyalty? It's like I didn't even make them pumpkin bread this week. (Remember how I made you pumpkin bread a couple of days ago, kids? That's like dessert...but with whole wheat flour and vegetables. Okay, fine. Whatever. Grandma wins.)

The kids asked to have a movie with their dinner so we watched some of The Series of Unfortunate Events and picnicked on a blanket. 

Thanks for an evening free of cooking, Grandma! And thank you, internet, for making far-away places feel a little less far away!