We had dinner with my parents tonight. Our two children had a wonderful time playing with both Mimi and Gramps. My father had found a beautiful see saw of industrial playground quality and completely refurbished it including seats, sealing and painting the metal and generally making it look brand new. My kids loved it.
They had a fun time doing many things over the course of the evening and we ultimately didn't go home until a half hour past the children's bedtime. They were both asking to go to bed as soon as we got home, which is a truly wonderful thing to behold as parents.
We had pizza tonight, ordered from one of our favorite local pizza places. My husband likes this place in particular because their pizza reminds him of the pizza he had when he lived in New York. We all enjoyed the pizza, my children coming back and asking for more just before we left. As I ate my pizza I noticed something though--my father and I eat our pizza's the same way.
Some people like to fold their pizza. Some people like to cut it with a knife and fork. Some people think the best part of the pizza is the crusts. I like the toppings personally. I'll eat from the corner of the pizza slice until I get relatively close to the crust and then I'll use my teeth to either pull or scrape off the toppings. I don't dislike the crust, but it's the least interesting part of the pizza, so I end up leaving the crust (or "bones" as someone told me years ago) on the plate. Those bones usually have a portion of the crust from the pizza slice attached as well.
If I were to eat three slices of pizza, there's a good chance there will be at least one full slice of pizza crust in square inches left on the plate when I'm done. And apparently my father does the same thing.
That's one of the interesting things about genetics. What made me want to eat my pizza that way? My father never told me how to eat pizza, it's a personal preference that I can't explain, but apparently I inherited that preference from him.
The Big Boy Update: "That was a nice bridge." On the way home from dinner in the dark tonight we drove under a bridge that we drive under many times each week. For some reason tonight the bridge must have looked very friendly because as we drove past my son said, "that was a nice bridge."
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: "Thank you for dinner." As we left Mimi and Gramp's house tonight my daughter said, without any prompting, "thank you for dinner" as we walked out the front door.
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