MAKE YOURSELF SOME FOOD

What better way to share a dinner with friends than a night making pizzas? Last week our friends Andy and Sarah brought their kids over for a night on the East Coast. The minute they walked through the door, we knew the night would be exciting. I mean, it’s not every day someone walks into your home and throws up all over the floor!

Drew, a 1-year-old flirt like I have never seen, walked in, all smiles. Then, my husband, looking a little puzzled, asked, “Did he just throw up on himself?” Why yes, yes he did. We laughed as we cleaned up the floor and wiped off Drew’s clothes, hands and face.

With mess number one cleaned up, we decided to go ahead and get started making a different kind of mess in the kitchen.

Make-Your-Own Pizza Night is great fun and an easy way to ensure that everyone gets to eat the food they like. Cali, an adorable 3-year-old curly-haired blonde cutie, started us off by helping make a pizza with a chunky tomato basil sauce, sliced block mozzarella and sliced basil leaves. She did a great job saucing, cheesing and tossing on all of the chopped basil. I think that pizza was the most beautiful and the most tasty.

We made two additional pizzas throughout the evening and enjoyed a great time around the table. I am so in love with Cali and Drew (creepy, I know, but not meant to be). I spent any time not in the kitchen or eating at the table right next to them on the floor.

Cali and I colored some cartooney pages and I helped Drew climb up and down the couch. After a few hours, the family headed back to their end of the island. And then the fun began.

Paul nearly lost his mind, to be honest. I cleaned up the kitchen a bit as I cooked in order to save time and counter space. When dinner was over, I knew that I needed to hit the kitchen and immediately begin cleaning. If I sat, I was sure I would crash.

As I organized my mess and began washing the dishes, Paul helped by pulling out the Dyson. My amazing husband vacuumed the living area, dining area and kitchen like a pro. While I continued to wash the dishes, he cleaned the table.

The more I washed, the more Paul cleaned in the other room and the more I heard Paul laugh.

“I don’t get it. How is this possible?” I would hear. “There’s just stuff everywhere.”

We did have to clean our floor-to-ceiling mirror because there were six Drew-height streaks all along the bottom.

“What’s this on the couch?”

Who knows.

“What the….There are streaks on the back of the couch. I think these are drool marks!”

I chuckled from the other room.

“Was this brown stain on the [white] rug there before or is that new?”

I left the kitchen to examine the spot. “It’s new,” I replied and we went to find the carpet cleaner.

It really did not take long to clean. I was baffled that we were done by 8:30; I felt like we had a whole evening ahead of ourselves.

Later that evening we got into bed and it started all over again.

“There is no way we are having kids. No way. I just don’t get how they do it. You want those?”

“Yes.”

“Did I know that you wanted kids while we were dating all those years?”

“Um, yes.”

“Well now we have to have kids. It’s not fair of me to say I don’t want them after you already married me.”

Three nights later…

“Oh my gosh, I still can’t get over those kids. The running around and the mess they make. Jam hands!” That last one is a reference to the greatest show ever on television, Gilmore Girls. In the voice of Luke Danes, everyone’s favorite diner owner, “I don’t even like kids. They always have jam on their hands. Even when there isn’t any jam in the house, they get jam on their hands. I can’t deal with jam hands.”

Paul has always joked about kids and about not having kids but I guess I never took him seriously. I always thought that he just liked the reaction he received after his typically-offensive comments.

One of my favorite offensive Paul moments happened at a work-sponsored Family Day. We enjoyed lunch and some activities at a local arena and, at one point all of the kids were welcomed onto the arena floor where some local football players led the kids in drills and games.

The kids piled down from the stands onto the floor like sand pouring from the top of an hour glass to the bottom – in the beginning there were just a few but after a few seconds, there seemed to be millions of them just streaming down.

“Man!” Paul said not at all quietly. “That’s a lot of broken condoms.” Embarrassed, I looked around to see if anyone else, including the kids and parents of the kids near us, heard that horrific comment.

Maybe I didn’t always believe he was serious because he never seemed to have the same distinct position for more than a couple hours at a time.

While hosting a work dinner, Paul could not help but make fun of kids and the idea of having kids while speaking with my boss and his wife who had three children at home. Later that night, Paul looked at me from his pillow, pointed across me at the other side of the room and said casually and seriously out of nowhere, “We could fit a crib over there.”

Holy nuts.