Melt Down

I have been trying to find the time to post a new blog entry. I have two drafts sitting and waiting to go, but haven't had time to finish. I am going to just jump in with this one because I, like my pizza might just melt down.

Here is the run down:

The little Lady has been attached to my boob, every 30 minutes since 3:30 this afternoon and the Lady has been wearing her new Dora nightgown since around the same time when she stripped down and demanded it. At five thirty I thought it might be a good idea to start dinner so that the Lady could be fed. I defrosted pizza dough this afternoon, rolled it out on the silpat baking sheet.

The Lady was running around the kitchen with the flip video camera, asking me to replay the little video we had just made with her sister. I would have posted it here, but in the midst of her pressing any button she could, it got erased.

Anyway, so I am pressing play on the video camera, hoping the little Lady closes her eyes in the swing and dicing and chopping up veggies to add to the pizza as a healthy topping. We split the dough in the house and I make one personal size pizza for me and the Lady and my husband gets the other half. Oh, and I was waiting for my husband to get home, because he has a softball game at 6:15 and I know he has to get changed. Is is just wishful thinking on my part that he would actually get home a little early so I could get a hand, rather than waltzing through the door at five to six, changing his clothes and leaving?

It was after he left that I realized I had added all the toppings on top of the baking sheet and did not transfer it to the foil lined cookie sheet that we usually make the pizza on. The toppings are too heavy for me to lift the uncooked pizza and get it in the oven. Ugh.

The baby started to cry. I started to feed her, while researching online (and typing with one hand) if I can actually put the Silpat baking sheet in the oven. (I saw it done on Top Chef, so I was just looking for confirmation). Apparently they are fine in the oven up to temps of 485 degrees. My stove is set at 425--perfect. The little Lady had fallen asleep and I left her rocking quietly in the swing.

I transferred the pizza on the baking sheet into the oven. The sheet is a little big but it goes in. In the middle of this the Lady has climbed onto the chair and has tried to write with a pen on the computer screen. She is immediately reprimanded and escorted to the naughty stair. We might have dinner tonight--until. . .

The f'ing smoke alarm starts going off. The Lady bolts from the naughty stair and literally jumps into my arms. I have to put her down on the couch, remove the now smoking baking sheet from the oven--open the windows in order to vent the potentially toxic plastic smell coming from my oven and climb a stair or two to reset the alarms.

Ugh. I reassured the Lady that everything was all right. I reheated the mac and cheese she had for lunch and put her in her seat. I made a very futile attempt to remove all the toppings from the pizza and start over, but was left with a tomato stained yeasty mess that is now in my garbage can.

I am eyeing the left over dough I have for my husband, but am resigning myself to yet another dinner of Honey Nut Cheerios.

Oh, did I mention that the little Lady slept through the entire episode? I guess I should be grateful for that!