I find a slice of cold pizza sitting on our kitchen counter, random and unannounced.
Joel enters the room and gestures toward it. "Don't eat that."
I hadn't been planning to do so, but I just have to ask. "Why is there pizza out?"
"Not sure. I just found it in the bathroom."
I'm silent. How have we gotten to a point in life that a slice of pizza can migrate from our refrigerator to our bathroom without our knowledge? Where, exactly, had it been discovered in the bathroom? On the sink? (One can hope.) How can three children be so adept at rearranging the contents of our house each day so that our possessions continually shift and multiply and disappear and reemerge in unlikely locations? Will this ever stop?
But, I can't express any of this. I just look at the pizza suspiciously and ask, "Why?"
Joel shrugs back with a smile. "Robin, at this point, I don't ask; I just tell. Definitely, don't eat that pizza."