I try to shy away from the “having a kid restores your own childlike sense of wonder” theme, because it’s true but dangerously boring.

But the other night I was planning to run down to Pagliacci for some slices, and Laurie said, “You know, we could have a pizza delivered.” Iris requested lots of olives on her pizza. She was impressed when, half an hour later, a woman showed up at the door with a pizza with lots of olives. The other half was the Brooklyn Bridge, which features pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, onion, green peppers, and olives.

Iris weighs about one-sixth as much as I do, but she routinely eats half as much pizza or more.

Last night someone called from Pagliacci to check whether the pizza was delivered hot and otherwise to our liking. I should have put Iris on the phone.