More then Pizza
Every July, my family heads north to my brother Greg and sister-in-law Pat's summer home tucked away in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. It has become one of those traditions that quietly anchors our family each year. Long before we arrive, the anticipation begins. Calendars are checked, vacation days are requested, grocery lists are made, and everyone starts counting down the days until we're together again.
What I love most is watching how our family continues to grow. Children become adults. New babies and partners join us. Grandchildren arrive with boundless energy and endless curiosity. Our numbers seem to increase each year, and I can't help but smile because that means our family's legacy will continue long after we're gone.
One of my favorite traditions isn't about boating, bonfires, or afternoons on the lake. It's about food.
Years ago, when all of our children were little, vacation looked very different. While everyone else was swimming, tubing, or relaxing on the dock, it often felt like the moms spent most of the day inside the cabin. There were breakfasts to make, lunches to prepare, dinners to cook, dishes to wash, counters to wipe, and pots and pans to clean.
By the time one meal was finished, it was almost time to start thinking about the next one. Somewhere along the way, someone had a brilliant idea.
Instead of the same people preparing every meal, each family would be responsible for one full day of lunches and dinners. Breakfast became an every person for themselves kind of meal, and suddenly everyone had the opportunity to enjoy the vacation instead of spending it in the kitchen. It was one of the best changes we ever made.
Weeks before our trip, Pat creates a meal schedule and asks each family what they'll be making so we don't accidentally end up with tacos three nights in a row. This year, my team consisted of Hannah, Lorenzo, and me.
After tossing around several ideas, we landed on pulled pork sandwiches for lunch and homemade pizzas for dinner. Hannah and Lorenzo own a pizza oven and thought it would be fun to bring it along so everyone could make their own personal pizza. It sounded like the perfect family activity.
The morning of our assigned day began with preparation for both meals. Ingredients were accounted for, and balls of pizza dough were carefully placed on the deck table to slowly come to room temperature.
As always, our little team headed up to the cabin to make lunch while everyone else enjoyed another beautiful day at the lake. We gathered plates, napkins, utensils, and everything else we'd need before carrying lunch down to the dock where everyone had gathered.
There is something special about sharing a meal beside the water. Wet towels hung over chairs, laughter drifted across the lake, and everyone paused long enough to enjoy good food and good company before heading back to whatever adventure awaited them next.
Once lunch was finished and cleaned up, before long, our attention turned to dinner.
The dough was ready to be shaped into smooth little balls and left to rise one final time. Flour covered the surface as we rolled, tucked, and prepared everything for the evening. Then someone looked at the weather radar. Rain. According to the radar, it was headed straight for us. The problem was that absolutely everything had been set up outside. The pizza oven, the prep table, the toppings, the dough, and everything needed for the meal. Cue the family scramble.
Suddenly we were swiftly moving into action. A tent was pulled out of the boathouse, hauled up the hill and quickly assembled while tables, ingredients, and the pizza oven were hurried underneath before the storm arrived.
We worked together like a well rehearsed pit crew. And then… Nothing. Not one single drop of rain. Better prepared than sorry.
As everyone began arriving for dinner, the fun really started.
Each person received their own ball of dough to transform into a personal pizza. Some immediately knew exactly what they wanted while others wandered the topping table, carefully considering every possibility.
Traditional options and creative combinations none of us had ever considered were being assembled. The table overflowed with sauces, cheeses, meats, vegetables, herbs, and every topping imaginable.
The little ones may have been my favorite part of the evening. Watching tiny hands dust dough with flour, carefully press or roll into shape, pick their sauce with complete concentration, and proudly sprinkle on toppings exactly where they wanted them was pure joy.
Parents beside them, helping when needed but allowing them to create their own masterpieces. Then came the best part. Watching their faces as their pizzas disappeared into the hot oven and returned just minutes later bubbling, golden, and perfectly theirs.
Lorenzo became the hero of the evening. For seventeen hungry people, he stood beside that oven cooking every single pizza. He rotated them, monitored the heat, rescued toppings that slid too close to the flame, cleaned the oven between pizzas, and somehow kept everything moving with patience and a smile.
I don't think he stopped once.
As pizzas came out, they were quickly sliced, shared, sampled, and admired. Conversations bounced from one end of the deck to the other. Someone asked for another slice. Someone else wanted to try a different combination.
It wasn't long before flour covered the table, everyone had full stomachs, and laughter filled the evening air.
As I looked around at our family gathered together, I realized the pizza wasn't really the point. The point was making it together. Everyone had a role. Everyone contributed. Everyone shared.
There is something deeply meaningful about preparing food together. It slows us down. It invites conversation. It creates moments that simply wouldn't happen if dinner magically appeared on the table.
Years from now, I doubt anyone will remember exactly what toppings they chose. But I think they'll remember rolling dough with flour covered hands. They'll remember Lorenzo tending the oven like a master chef. They'll remember the children proudly carrying their homemade pizzas to the table.
Most of all, I hope they'll remember how it felt to gather around the people who love them most. Because sometimes the greatest family traditions aren't about perfection or elaborate plans. They're about making something together, sharing it with grateful hearts, and realizing that what we're really creating isn't dinner at all. We're creating memories. And that's why this family tradition will always be about more than pizza.
xo, Sheryl
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