Pizza. Gone.

So on Friday, after five hours of subbing for a kindergarten class that was so naughty they made it feel like a twelve hour day, I stopped at Papa Murphy's. It was only 2:00 pm but I already knew there was no way I making dinner. I was, maybe, going to have myself a lie down. With a cold compress, a box of chocolates and some soothing music to make up for the day. (Except, yeah right because my very own kindergartner was waiting for me at home. As was my eight-year-old.) I had a coupon that allowed me to get a pizza free and then I somehow let them talk me into upgrading both pies to the family size--since one was free and all. AND THEN, when they asked me if I wanted any cookie dough or cheese bread, I made the BIG, FAT MISTAKE of taking a long look at my options and would you believe that there was a S'mores dessert pizza howling my name?

There was. And it was howling really loudly AND I needed to drown the horrible kindergarten experience with marshmallows and chocolate on top of pizza dough. So, I came home bearing a lot of pizza, is what I'm saying. When my husband saw the load, he asked me why, on earth, there was so much. I explained the FREE and told him we could freeze a whole pizza and pull it out for lunches or whatever.

Except that is SO not what happened.

I do not have a clue in all the world how I will keep my brood (my brood of only TWO) fed when they are teenagers. Because Troy and I are not really big eaters.

Well, okay...Troy is not really a big eater. During the whirlwind eight months that we were dating, I used to take half of my meal home because HE was taking half of his meal home and I couldn't look like the ravenous lion devouring its prey. I'd go home and (NO JOKE) finish the meal. After a few kisses and a few thoughts about how, hey, LOVE OF MY LIFE AND I THINK I'LL JUST GO AHEAD AND MARRY YOU, I decided that if we were living in the same house he would see me finishing my dinner at home so I might as well just start eating my food right there in the restaurant. In front of him.

But. Anyway. We didn't eat that much pizza. It's the five-year-old trash compactor and his brother, the eight-year-old pizza consuming boss. One entire family sized pizza disappeared on Friday night and there was Jello parfait and a tossed salad accompanying it. It's not like I just threw down a pizza without the hope of getting something green into them. By yesterday, BOTH of those huge pizzas were gone.

Gone.

As if they'd never existed in the first place.

The teenage years are going to kill me dead.