Friday night is pizza night. Catcher picked the crust (super thin) and Scout picked the toppings (cheese), then everyone sat patiently (or not so patiently) by the window to wait for Crystal to arrive with our pizza. Scout handed her two crumpled-up dollars from her pocket, and Catcher carried the pizza (two hands) into the kitchen.
It was the first time we've had pizza delivered since we moved to Austin, but all the excitement over the pizza tracker and looking out for the delivery truck (to Catcher, all delivery vehicles are trucks) didn't stop complaints from cropping up at the dinner table. The cheese was burnt (it wasn't); the pizza tasted weird (it didn't).
After dinner Catcher told me that even though he didn't like the taste of the pizza (Domino's, for the record) he still wants to order it again one day and he'll eat it. Maybe next time we'll try Papa John's.