Tonight was Pizza and a Movie Night. This has been a weekly tradition since we lived in Portugal. I make homemade pizza (sometimes, the boys “help”), and we pick a family- friendly movie to watch together. As in, Rusty and I sit and watch, too, even when the chosen movie is “Ernest Goes to Camp,” and we try our best to stay off our computers and iPhones.
The boys love this night and look forward to it all week. It’s the one and only time we eat while sitting in front of the TV. A simple tradition, but one that can go with us anywhere. And it has gone with us, across three continents now. Sometimes, it’s the little things that provide that sense of constancy when most of your life is in the upheaval of transition.
This afternoon, as the dough was rising in the breadmaker and the sauce was bubbling on the stove, two bottles of Dr. Pepper were getting nice and cold in my refrigerator. They came to me all the way from the U.S., double-bagged in Zip-locs and tucked into the suitcase of one of the folks from York. I am not a big soda drinker. But I do crave soda with certain foods — like pizza, and hamburgers, and Mexican. And I love Dr. Pepper, which can’t be found in stores here. Don’t ask me why. In a country with such a large expat population, and where other American goodies like Betty Crocker cake mixes and Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese are readily available, you would think someone somewhere would be importing Dr. Pepper. It’s one of the great mysteries of Ecuador to me.
I make a pretty good homemade pizza, which goes without saying after almost three years of making it once a week. Really, the only thing for me that makes it any better — is an ice-cold Dr. Pepper, especially when I haven’t had one in almost nine months. Sometimes, it’s the little things that satisfy that taste of home you didn’t even know you’d been missing.
Sometimes, it’s the little things that end up being the most important.