I had a timely reminder this week, though, that the man I married is the type who will always prefer meat lover’s over milk and cookies, so I ended up making deep-dish pizza instead. It’s not the traditional February 14th (or 4th) fare, but I’m sure we’ll get past that. 😉

Homemade deep dish pizza isn’t frequently on the menu at our house. Not only does it take four hours from start to finish (including two hours of rising time), but we aren’t excessively attached to processed pepperoni. My husband, in spite of the occasional pizza fetish, usually will go for anything that can be passed off as home-anything: homegrown, home ground, home raised, home canned, home bottled, home plate, home run…

There is something about pepperoni, though, that hails back to the early days of our marriage, when we would get calls from the credit card company because we had Papa John’s charges two evenings in a row. What could we say… we needed something to sustain us through the all-night movie marathons! These days, when it’s not uncommon to find us zonked by 9:00 at night, it’s nice to pull out a pack of pepperoni on occasion. It reminds us that once upon a time we could each put away an entire large pie and have no trouble staying up until 3:00 a.m. hanging out together.

kneaded

Last Thursday morning, I heard a loud knock at the back window of the house.

ready to be filled

There was a strange man standing there, looking haggard, with a red face and white beard behind foggy glasses.

I debated how rude it would be if he saw me running for the phone before I answered the door. We live in a very rural area, complete with genuine mountain hermits.

plot thickens

I decided to take my chances, and I was glad I did.

It was my husband, his face so plastered with snow that I hadn’t recognized him. All my protective instincts rushed to the forefront of my thoughts… but this particular suffering hero refused to come inside until I had taken a picture of him, to commemorate a moment he hoped never to repeat. I considered posting the picture, but he looks utterly miserable in it!

It turns out his truck had stalled three miles from home, on his way to work (clogged fuel filter). Instead of calling and asking me to remember how to put snow chains on the van tires, he took it upon himself to walk back home.

love

His truck thermometer had registered around 20 below zero when he left home in the morning. The “snow” covering his face (and the front of his coat collar) probably was frozen moisture from his breath.

Because he was wearing only his hospital-issued sea green scrubs under his winter coat, we were concerned about frostbite on his legs. I remembered another reason I’m grateful he takes exercise seriously. Good circulation helps prevent lots of things, frostbite included.

After I had sufficiently fussed over him and we determined it was just a case of “frostnip,” we got to enjoy a rare steaming hot breakfast together.

cooking something up

I would leave that to the imagination, but remember that by this time of morning we had four kids clamoring for blueberry pancakes. That’s ok… We agree that life is a lot more fun around our house now than it was four or five years ago.

We enjoyed a kid-filled morning with blueberry home ground whole wheat pancakes, scrambled eggs a la Wolfe (with everything in them), plus the requisite bacon and orange juice for a truly hearty breakfast. Lingering around the table, listening to children’s perspectives on why everything is the way it is, warms the heart and reminds us how thankful we are to have them with us.

Eventually the cozy morning had to end, as we had a stalled truck to tow, among other things. But an unexpected breakfast at home with a person who has truly become my best friend through the thick and thin is the kind of Valentine’s Day treat that I will always prefer.

happy ending

And now…

I would really like to find a way to pass off my unused carton of pink frosting as “home grown!”

Maybe if I left it sitting out long enough… 🙂

Thanks again for “visiting,” and have a wonderful week.