The Lord Of The Pizzas

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No. This pizza is not really “Lord of the pizzas.” Nor am I, “Lord of the pizzas.” In fact, the title was simply in reference to some silly movie quotes throughout this post.

Blame my thighs. They lord over everything around here.

One of my favorite things to make at home is homemade pizza. We take the term “homemade” a little loosely in our house. We made it in our house. But everything is bought and put together. As in pre-made. And put together.

As in my lazy soul continues to be happy.

And my thighs continue to rule them all.

Isn’t that how the saying goes?:

“One thigh to rule them all. One thigh to wine them.
One thigh to eat it all and in the kitchen dine them.”

Or somethin’ like that.

I have tried almost all of the different store’s pre-made pizza dough. And I know which dough is my favorite. Safeway’s pizza dough can’t be beat. And I will not use any other pizza sauce except for Pastorelli. As for the cheese, I use whatever I can get on sale.

So, my ingredient list has my preferred labels for the pizza I make at home.

With school being out for the summer soon, I know my kids will want to be in the kitchen cooking more. I wanted to post this in case you, too, want to trick get your kids to cook dinner for you this season.

This would be great for second breakfast, too.

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Ingredients for two pizzas:

2 Safeway Select Traditional pre-made (but not precooked) pizza balls of dough (usually found next to their pre-made take and bake refrigerated pizzas and usually $1 each)
2 8 oz. cans of Pastorelli Pizza sauce (you can use a 15 oz. can and split it in half. I buy the two little cans so each child has their own can to work with)
4 cups shredded mozzarella cheese

Optional:

We use:

1/2 cup feta cheese
1/2 bag pepperoni
1/3 cup chopped sun dried tomatoes

Any other topping you like. Maybe Po-ta-toes.

Directions:

Let refrigerated pizza dough rest on counter for thirty minutes before using.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Since I have two children, I let each of them roll out one ball of dough. Stretch the dough. Pull the dough. You really cannot hurt it. The more you work pizza dough, the better it gets.

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My kids do all of the following instructions. What do I do? Well, somebody has to drink the wine.

I always have them make it in a rectangular shape. This is so the finished product fits on my baking sheets.

The baking sheets should be lightly oiled with olive oil.

Once the dough is made into the desired shape, place each pizza dough on a baking sheet.

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Pour one can of pizza sauce on to each pizza dough. Sprinkle two cups of cheese onto each pizza. Then top with your ingredients. One of our children likes plain cheese. The other, pepperoni. And our whole family likes sun dried tomatoes and feta.

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Those last two ingredients are not added until there are only two to three minutes left to the baking time. I want them warmed up but sun-dried tomatoes burn very quickly, so you can not put them on at the beginning. I feel like feta dries out if I put it on for the entire baking period because the flakes are so small. But you can definitely add it for the entire baking time if you prefer.

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Bake pizzas for 13-15 minutes. The cheese should be melted but not brown.

Let the pizza rest for 3-5 minutes. Cut the pizza into slices.

Plate the pizza.

Serve the pizza with salad. I use this easy recipe.

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Homemade pizza. Spinach salad. Red wine.

It doesn’t get any better than that.

Isn’t that right, my precious?

Dear Children: Yours

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When you are sick. I am nauseous.

When you are thirsty. I am parched.

When you are in pain. I am in agony.

When you have heart ache. My own heart breaks.

When you cry. My own eyes run rivers.

And it is not enough.

If I could but take all of your sickness. Your thirst. Your pain. Your heart ache. Your tears.

I would.

All of it.

All at once.

Not only would I take it.

I want it.

For my nutrients were once your nutrients. My blood became your blood. I once breathed air for you. The breath of life into you.

How is it then that I can not control the elements of your being?

I created you.

Yet I cannot control you.

Or the illness that strikes you. The sun that beats down on you. The movement in your body. Or the movement of another’s harsh words rolling from their tongue like a knife to your heart.

I once moved for you.

You once moved in me.

And there are no movements I can make to change the circumstances that face you.

It is every mother’s battle.

The inability to take on their children’s trials.

It is a war every mother would gladly fight.

We have polished our armor. We have sworn our oaths. Our swords belong to you, my children.

We are an army ready. Waiting. Eager.

We run our hands over your fevered brows and then those same hands tighten on our swords.

We wait for an opponent that will never face us.

Directly.

For although your life is yours, my child.

When the sickness, thirst, pain, heartache and tears come, I want it for my own.

What is mine will always be yours.

What is yours is yours.

Not mine.

Yours.

And I crumble next to you from the harsh truth of those words.

The ugliness of those five unchangeable letters.

As I search for the unsearchable. As I beg for the unattainable. As I reach for the unreachable. And I hope for the impossible.

I will wipe your brow of your heat, your eyes of your tears, your back of your worries, your mouth of your sickness, your shoulder in your pain.

I may not be able to take any of those troubles from you. But my heart. My soul.

My hands.

They are yours.

It’s The Little Things: Small Artwork And I Need Help

Okay. Not necessarily help. I kind of need you to take my side. In a disagreement.

With my husband.

It has been going on for over a month.

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My daughter recently finished these two art pieces. I love them. I think they are so cool. They are pen on burlap. And I enjoy all of the details she put into them. When I look at them, I see the pure joy of a teenager.

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However, I have a dilemma.

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My husband wants to hang them askew. So that one is taller than the other.

Can you imagine what that does to my OCD?

You guys, it can’t happen!

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They will probably go underneath the painting of the vineyard my daughter did in fourth grade.

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There is so much detail around all of the sides, I do not know how to hang them.

But, I do know my heart cannot take unevenness. Especially since I would see these from my place of worship my bed.

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What should I do? Is there any other way or place we can hang them? I think side by side is fine, but they have sat on that chest for over a month, because we cannot make a decision.

Please help!

It’s the little things: well, this painting has little things all over it. But really, I need some advice. I cannot keep walking by these another day.

The guilt.

It.

Is.

Too.

Much.

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And also, he left the hammer in the corner until we could reach an agreement.

It’s been there for over a month!

Things are gettin’ crazy around here!

That hammer is no accident.

It is almost worse than paintings hung at an angle.

Folks.

He’s playing dirty.

And.

I.

Hate.

To.

Lose.

Dear Children: Being A Stick-In-The-Mud,

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Call it a fuddy duddy. Stick-in-the-mud (which by the way sounds better than being mud, doesn’t it?). A party pooper.

These are all society’s acceptable names that seem to be okay to call someone who does not give into peer pressure.

Guess what?

Your mommy is proud to have been called all of them.

Because sometimes, well sometimes, it’s important to stand up for something you believe in.

And people are going to feel threatened that you might not agree with their actions.

By you refusing to do an action with them, it calls into question their own morality.

People don’t like that.

But you should “stick to your guns anyway.”

This will probably lead them to result to name calling. Those words will hurt. Don’t think they won’t. But not as much as your soul will hurt if you go against it. The names they will call you may cut deeper than a “stick in the mud.” And as hard as this will be, you must ignore them.

When I was a child there was a nonsense little saying that went like this:

“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But words will never hurt me.”

That saying is ridiculous. Words are the most powerful thing in the world.

You might also notice that in Mommy’s time people were kind of obsessed with sticks.

I can’t explain this.

There must have been more trees back then.

This probably explains the many leaf idioms, as well.

But even back then, people fought the word, “no.”

Maybe they never learned differently. Maybe they just want to make their own choices. And that is okay. As long as you get to, too.

Because you should respect the use of someone else using that word, too.

Otherwise, we might as well all be made of sticks and leaves. And even stones.

Being human is more than that.

At least, it should be.

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If your friends or adversaries still will not understand your decision to not conform to their decision, well, I guess they “got the short end of the stick.”
Maybe you could, “Help them turn over a new leaf.”
If not, have more confidence than one can “shake a stick at.”

In today’s terms:

IOW, JTLYK, YOLO.

YKWYCD?

JSN!

ILY,

Mommy