Pizza! No, Zayda!

When I was in my toddlerhood I was extremely active.  Not in a malicious way, but in an intrigued and fascinated with my world way.  As a result of my very active ways, mom had a tough time preparing supper some nights since it usually came down to keeping me from climbing onto the roof or putting dinner on the table.  So apparently, we ended up ordering in take-out a bunch.

One night, when I was two the door bell rang.  I ran to the door, threw it open, and shouted: "PIZZA!"

Standing at the door was my grandfather.  He exclaimed: "No! ZAYDA!"

Apparently, I wasn't too pleased to see my Zayda and not the pizza delivery man and said, quite emphatically: "PIZZA!"

We went back and forth like this for a bit and then, being the feisty pizza loving two year old that I was, I threw myself onto the floor in a pizza craving rage.

Of course, mom had to explain to Zayda that we had been ordering pizza a bunch lately, which was why I was throwing open the door and insisting there be a pizza waiting for me.  Although at that point, he may have gotten the point. Needless to say, we didn't order in pizza for a really long time...

I made pizza for dinner last night using Udi's amazing gf pizza crusts (!), and I thought of this story.  Avi and I were recalling it while we were at the coast a few weeks back when we had ordered in some gluten free pizza one night.  I have always gotten a chuckle out of this story.

I loved Zayda so much, but that one night, I really loved my pizza a bit more.  Now, I still love my pizza, and I really appreciate being able to make it with a nice gluten-free crust, but each time I make a pizza and sit down to eat it I really wish I could have opened my front door to see my Zayda standing there, with a pizza.