It’s strange the memories that surface when you are in the middle of selling a house, a house you have lived in for fifteen years. When we signed our “John and Jane” Hancocks at closing back in 2007, our children were 11, 9, and 4—assuming my math is accurate, of course. A lot has happened in 15 years, some good, some bad…a lot that is very memorable.
I’m not sure why this particular memory came to mind this week, but like many other families across this great land, our family used to spend time together on Friday nights. My wife and oldest daughter would make homemade pizza. Then, when it was ready, we would all be summoned down to the basement, where our embarrassingly large TV occupied one whole wall and sat waiting to be filled with the latest, greatest family-friendly movie or T.V. show.
Four kids. Two parents. One couch. A pair of recliners. Plenty of pizza, chips and soda. And a really big viewing area. What could go possibly go wrong?
“I’m sitting here. I was here first.”
“I don’t care. That’s where I sit every Friday.”
“Stop kicking me!”
“Can you please move over and keep your feet to yourself?”
“There’s not enough room on this couch.”
“That’s because he’s taking up two cushions!”
“Can you please sit differently so that everyone has enough room?”
“My legs are too long.”
“Too long? You’re twelve—and you’re not Kareem Abdul Jabbar.”
“I’ll just sit on the floor.”
“Why don’t you go get one of the bean bag chairs from upstairs?”
“I can’t eat in one of those. It’s too hard to sit up.”
“Well, then sit on the floor.”
“But the floor’s too hard and uncomfortable.”
“That’s okay. I’ll sit on the beanbag. But I don’t want to go get it.”
“I’ll get it. I have to go upstairs anyway.”
Meanwhile,
“Are you eating my cheese pizza? Mom, she’s eating my cheese. You made that for me. I don’t eat anything else.”
“Please don’t eat the cheese. Leave the cheese for your sister.”
“Don’t take all the sausage either.”
“Leave me some pepperoni.”
Eventually, we all get situated, eat our fill of pizza, and settle in for the main event.
Ten minutes later, the two youngest are on our laps, snuggling in.
And Mom is sound asleep.
