Haddie is in the middle of what we hope will be her final round of swim lessons before she tries swim team. The schedule is later than I would like and we don’t arrive home until 6:30 p.m.
Our family thinks they are going to die if we don’t eat by 6 p.m. Anyone else seeing a problem here?
Though Jamie is great in the kitchen, I do 99% percent of the cooking and I’m hesitant to ask him for help because he’s so darn busy. But one night, I didn’t have a chance to prepare anything so asked him if he and Bode could be in charge of warming up leftovers so dinner would be ready when we walked in the door.
They both agreed and I was charmed to arrive home to both boys in aprons.
They even had flour on their faces and apparently had been working hard.
Or not.
There in the middle of the kitchen table was a pizza that looked suspiciously like it was purchased from Domino’s.
“Where did you buy the pizza?”
“We made that pizza. What do you think we’ve been doing the past hour?”
“Bode, be honest with Mommy. Did you make that pizza?”
“Yes, what Daddy said. We’ve been working hard!”
Gotta give the boys credit: they stuck to their story and I almost started believing them until I found the pizza box outside in the garbage.
Here’s a tip for the boy conspiracy for next time: destroy all evidence.
And do Pizza Hut next time.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 