Pizza Friends

11667324_10207120702278447_2681304468368051219_n 11667449_10207119611051167_1572319498747541427_n 11659401_10207119581570430_130208045885276116_n 11700905_10207119554329749_8020226585197633677_nLast weekend we went over to the lake to see old friends. They were our friends before we had babies. They came over the night we brought Jackson home.

An impromptu crowd had gathered. We had nothing to feed them. We’d been out of town for more than a week fetching the kid. So they went and got a stack of pizzas. That’s the kind of friends they are. Pizza friends.

Their first child was born four months later. Jackson had his first playdate with their son. It was more of a mom playdate. The babies were in bassinets. We sat together and watched football and talked about whatever. I stole a garden gnome from her house that night. There were shenanigans that followed.

Their second child was born three years later. They remained pizza friends…the kind of friends you could call and say, “I’m getting pizza, you get wine, bring your kids over and make me laugh.” And they did.

Then they moved away.

The day-to-day interactions of my life changed quite a bit after that. It’s been more than four years. And some days it’s still really hard that they’re not around the corner anymore.

When we hung out on the boat, ate pizza (obviously), drank beer, watched our children play together and laughed until my stomach hurt, it was so good. But I couldn’t help but be a little sad when we all went home because I was reminded of how much I miss them.

Pizza friends are rare creatures.

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