This is something that my dear husband is not. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally. Just when I think that I have this precept down, when I think that I can ‘live and let live’, Steve makes a pizza.
Pizza is delicious. There are no two ways about it. Even those on restricted diets try to make a version that fits their needs. Recipes abound for gluten free, fat free, dairy free, sulphate free, tomato free, carb free. The list goes on and on.
Youngest son and I were out the door by 7:30 Saturday morning. Hubby had just taken the dog out and was firing up his computer as we waved goodbye. Apparently his intent was to work for a bit and then go get propane. A little bit became afternoon. Eldest son and friend showed up and began their sorting. My startled husband realized that hours had passed and he hadn’t procured propane. He hadn’t started the mowing. He hadn’t finished his work that needed to be completed before Monday. He didn’t know what was being sorted and possibly thrown away.
Inflexibility quickly led to panic. After being reassured that his treasures in the shop were being adequately respected, and that nothing would be thrown away or hauled away until he was able to look it over again, Steve then took off with the propane tank.
Meanwhile, baseball was done for the day so kidlet #3 and I headed home. I texted Steve to let him know that after we stopped at the store for groceries I’d be home to make dinner.
Turning onto our road we passed oldest kidlet’s buddy who was leaving to go to work. Pulling in to our place, we waved at the now-lawn-mowing oldest kidlet and noticed the hubby’s missing truck. Groceries were hauled in and I started dinner. Steak, rice and beans, fresh asparagus, focaccia bread. Yum.
I just about had dinner ready when in walks Steve with a huge pizza.
“What’s that for?” I asked. Silly me.
“It’s dinner,” stated hubby. “Why is son mowing? You told me to do it!”
“I’ve cooked dinner and son wanted to mow. Riding the mower around in this glorious sunshine sounded appealing to him.” I sent youngest son out to get his brother as I began dishing up. “Again, what is the pizza for? I made dinner. Where’s your phone? Didn’t you check your text messages?”
“Well, I didn’t know when you’d get home, and I knew you’d be mad if I didn’t feed kid and his buddy,” growled hubby. “Can we freeze it?”
“No, just put it in the fridge. We can cook it for lunch or supper tomorrow. I’m not sure when we will be done with our games. I saw buddy leave as I pulled in and I texted you to let you know I was coming home to make dinner. I wish you would communicate with me.”
Jeepers. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.
Sunday morning kidlet and I were out the door by 7:00. Hubby was still in bed. We drove the 70 miles to the tournament site just to find the gates closed and lock. Dozens of confused and upset baseball players and their families milled around. It had rained the night before so the local parks department declared the fields to be unplayable. All games were cancelled. I texted hubby, then we headed home, arriving at noon. I went into the kitchen, turned on the oven and opened the fridge to grab the pizza to cook for lunch.
I yelped. The pizza had already been baked and was more than half gone. I turned off the oven & put the remainder of pizza on the counter for kidlet.
“Steve! What happened to the family sized pizza? Emphasis on 'family'.”
“I had it for breakfast.” Ahhh, Steve. Really? Whatever happened to oatmeal? Oh, I get it. This is him being flexible. lol