of course the first thing we had to do after dad had been gone so long, toiling away in deep dish territory, is get him back on track with a good old slice of the greasy stuff, new york style, folded down the middle.
this wants to be a paragraph waxing poetic about pizza but look. i'll spare us all.
he point is i took this little series of photos on my phone, and after scrolling through them with brandon at least a five times in bed later that night and laughing every time, i decided they warranted a blog post. i call it, "no really huck, you do want that pizza. just eat it."
(and i am sorry huck but you seem to have inherited my awful pursed lips face i make when i'm thinking about things . . . it's genetic and cannot be helped. blame your grandpa lovin.)
"yeah, that's pretty good, dad."
































