Happy Fatherhood Friday everyone. Just click on dad-blogs.com to "deliver" yourself to a bunch of other great bloggers.
So last week Mom-E and I launched a pizza delivery service.
We've since retired from the business after one day, 4 pizzas, and no profit.
One of Mom-E's most endearing qualities--and one that probably adds to her stress levels--is that she always volunteers to do nice things for people.
(I joke with her that she's charged with making hand-carved wooden boxes for everyone in the world. You should expect yours sometime soon.)
So last Friday night we'd agreed to bring dinner to not one, but two of our friends who recently had babies.
And, for some reason, we told one friend we'd bring dinner about 5:30 and the other about 6:45.
Mind you, I usually get home about 5:30, and at 4:30 Mom-E told me she had to go pick up Pupp-E from the groomers, and had not made the homemade pizzas yet (dough was made, but still in the fridge).
So, I came home a little early, just in time to meet Mom-E, the boys, and
I filled my arms with small children, and Mom-E started making pizzas.
Mom-E was going to make 4 pizzas: 1 for one family, 2 for the other (larger) family, and 1 for us. Unfortunately, the pizzas end up being small enough that we needed 2 pizzas for each family, meaning that we no longer had dinner for ourselves.
By about 6:15 we're ready to leave.
The boys, however, are not. They'd recently made one trip in the car, and were ready to jammie it up and hang out at home.
So, we load up our pizza delivery van with 4 ready-to-bake pizzas, 3 very cranky screaming boys, 2 of those pizzas in my arms in the back seat of the van, and 1 rapidly becoming hypoglycemic Deliver-E Driver (Mom-E) who's a little concerned that we're about an hour late for our first delivery.
We actually decide to make the second delivery first because they're closer to our house.
Only problem is that I didn't have the directions quite right. This required me to make a phone call, while holding two pizzas on baking sheets in the back seat of a van with hungry, screaming children who do not want to be in said van, and a wife who--despite being a very sweet woman--in her own words becomes evil when she gets really hungry.
I proceed to try to convince the boys that this is our new family business, and every night we're going to deliver pizzas out of our minivan.
It's not delivery, it's 3 Cranky Boys Pizza. We bring you your pizza...one hour late...with
So we make delivery one, and proceed to delivery number two.
Fortuntely, things got better from there. The boys were exciting about visiting that family (they're part of our "dinner group", and the kids have a ball together). We're able to use what blood sugar we had left in lieu of spontaneously combusting.
And since we essentially delivered our dinner to our friends, we decide to call it a night and grab a bite to eat.
The next time we consider making and delivering dinner for two of our friends on a weeknight, we'll take a deep breath, and then exhale "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
And then do it anyway, because that's how we roll.
Have a good weekend,
Cheif Paternal Officer, 3 Cranky Boys Pizza