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We had pizza for supper last night. Delicious, homemade pizza. The best pizza I’ve had in a long, long time. And I didn’t touch it until it was ready to eat.
I had another headache yesterday. They come every afternoon, and they’re bad. Incapacitating. Spring allergies. It’s horrible.
All that to say, I was not inclined to go into the kitchen and make pizza, but we had all the ingredients. And John was at the men’s meeting, so we were at liberty to eat stuff he doesn’t like for supper. He likes pizza somewhat, but he’s got a favorite, and that’s not what we made.
I hope that makes sense, another headache is crowding the grammar and vocabulary and general smart parts of my brain… so I’m blogging! Fun-times!
The way I accomplished it was this. First, a little over 17 years ago I gave birth to a son. Named him Andrew and proceeded to raise him up into a diligent, responsible person. Then I told him where all the pizza ingredients were, showed him a recipe in the bread machine book and told him to have at it. Then I decided it might be nice if I remained awake to field any questions.
Tada!
Pizza! Without going into the kitchen!
And man was it ever good! Tasty stuff! Delicious!
Atta boy!
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Way to go Andrew!!
Gotta love it when they do that, dontcha.