Saturday, December 6, 2014

I love you even when.

Today was a long day.  After preparing 3 massive lasagnas to feed a total of 23 youth and advisors from church tomorrow, then adding in a pan of rice krispie treats, a pan of brownies, and a sheet cake for the Baby Jesus, I was pretty much done with cooking for the day. At 4:30, I wearily looked at my monthly menu plan, then uncharacteristically looked away.

Then, we invited my parents over for happy hour, so that they could experience my newest obsession:  Cranberry Spice Sidecars.  One thing led to... another round of drinks.  But what to serve the kids?

Clearly, there was only one solution:  carryout pizza for dinner.  We never have carryout pizza for dinner.  I can't think of the last time the five of us sat down for Papa John's pizza.  Was it 6 months ago?  8?  14 months?  But when I bit into that pizza tonight, fetched on by Jeff and Aidan,(I'm still too cheap to splurge for the delivery guy) the first thought that ran through my head was, this is delicious.  Why don't we ever order pizza?  

An hour later, I started the putting-Pax-to-bed ritual.  After books, prayers, and songs, I lay next to him, quietly, holding his hand.  And then -  he said, "Mom, I love you.  Even when we have carry-out pizza for dinner."

I sat there, stunned, ingesting those words, not believing what I'd heard.  I reframed it into a question,

"Even when we have pizza?"

"Yes, I still love you," he answered.

Tonight, I learned the very real consequences of raising foodies who love to cook.... and perhaps, too, the measure of unconditional love.

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