When I was a kid, Friday was my mother’s favorite day. Not only was it the end of her work week, but it was also pizza night. No cooking for her. Just five thrilled kids and a satisfied husband wiping their greasy grins with their sleeves, humming a unified “Yum” at the first hot gooey bite of the thin crust sausage just-delivered pizza.

Extra easy. Extra decadent. Extra special.

Is it any wonder pizza has always been my favorite food? My mother claims I cut my teeth chewing on pizza crust and I am proud to say I paid my way through graduate school slinging deep dish.

Is it any wonder when I was working from home, I served my family pizza at least once a week, sometimes more?

Easy, yes. Decadent, always. Special? Um…not so much.

My husband, in his less guarded moments, tried to suggest introducing more healthy fare into our family’s dinner menu. Vegetables, lean meat or fish. You know, food.

Point taken. I had prioritized other things over meal prep. Silly stuff like work, writing, running errands, take care of the kids and my parents. Ahem.

I turned to the internet, source of all things helpful for a gal in a culinary pinch.

Before long, my Favorites folder was stuffed with healthy, but tasty recipes. At first, the boys tolerated these excursions into dietary mediocrity. Over time, they have even come to enjoy a few of them. Repetition has a funny way of doing that. So does threats of discontinuing cell phone service.

Pizza became relegated, once again, to Friday nights and not even every Friday night at that.

Yet, since starting my new job, the aroma of my favorite pizza has wafted out of my husband’s car when he’s picked me up at the station on more occasions than I’m sure he’s willing to admit. Assessing his sheepish grin, I’ve said nothing. Instead, I listen to him tell me about his day, all the while secretly hoping he remembered to get black olives on at least half of the pizza this time.

I know I should feel vindicated. But I also know how astonishingly easy it is for a day to slip through the fingers of a busy working parent.

Pizza. The dinner of plate-spinning champions.