Pizza

I love pizza nights. They remind me of my childhood- dinners at my Grandmom's that were not holidays inevitably resulted in pizza. Pizza reminds me of my cousins, my sisters, and I all climbing trees like monkeys outside, running around the yard, getting the mysterious red ink from the bark of the tree in the backyard all over our clothes. We would crawl with anticiption around the green porch, knees red with rug burn, eagerly awaiting one of my Uncle's to arrive with the hot boxes of delicious pies.

We squeezed around Grandmom's kitchen table (the dining room table was for adults only) laughing until soda was just about coming out our noses. We'd have eating contests, burping contests, and just about every obnoxious contest imaginable. We'd eat slice after slice until we were almost sick. With big, full bellies, we would plan for a "show" or "performance" to torture the adults with, and concoct the inevitable Stow-Away Project, where a chosen sacrificial lamb would be hidden away in someone's car in hopes of continuing the fun back home. I think Abby and Kyle were most often the chosen victims, hidden under coats on the floor of our station wagon. I cannot remember ever making it further than a block. Upon being discovered they were returned to Grandmoms, we'd say goodbyes all over again, and my cousins would run after our car as we waved and blew kisses and eagerly anticipated our next engagement.

I ordered pizza in last night, and even though pizza in Dublin is absolutely AWFUL, I still got that warm and fuzzy feeling. I am really looking forward to seeing my family over the holidays. Even though we are almost all legal adults now, we will still be squeezed around the kitchen table, only now instead of soda, it will be beer coming out of our noses. Laughs will be had and it will be fabulous.

And I can still out eat most of them.