Dear Mr. President – the conclusion

This past Monday started out like most of my Mondays, mundane. Earlier in the day I had the idea to make homemade pizza for dinner. I made dough in my bread machine and had sauce simmering on the stove. This all in thanks to my cute librarian friend.

Somewhere between 5:00 and 6:00 things started to go awry. During the dinner making process Harry started to get tired, hungry and cranky (a lethal combination). He just was not happy unless being held and holding a baby while stirring bubbling tomato sauce is not a good idea. It is also impossible to form dough into a beautiful round pizza shaped crust with a snotty nose baby on your hip or toddling around your feet. Add to this my 6 year old, Addison, who kept pulling me to the other room because there was something I just had to see. Turns out Count Dooku has the ability to electrify his opponents when you press the z button on the Wii remote. Thank goodness I know that now and the 10 other random things that I “just had to see” regarding Legos Star Wars. On top of this Dear Husband was unexpectedly later than normal coming home from work. Frustration was mounting.

Dear Husband came home and the pizza finally got into the oven. I was a little worried that I didn’t have a pizza stone and had to put the pizzas on cookie sheets. 15 minutes later one beautiful (despite the misshapen crust) pizza emerged but there was a major problem. Because of the cookie sheets the bottom was not all nice and crusty as it should be. I had floppy pizza. This was the straw that broke the camel’s (aka mommy’s) back. I began to whine and lament that I had no proper device for cooking pizza.

This is my lament that biblical scholars edited out of the book of Job:

Why, oh Lord, do I not have a pizza stone or a wood fired oven? How in the world do you expect me to serve my family a delicious and nutritious homemade pizza without a wood fired oven? Other moms easily serve up crispy pizzas while mine are limp and doughy. How can I carry on in life without this essential cooking tool? Have I fallen out of favor with You that my pizzas are floppy? Where, oh where is my pizza stone and/or wood fired oven?

Pretty pitiful, huh?

I tried my best to salvage the pizza by sliding the slices onto a piece of tin foil and then putting that back in the oven. In my frustration, I am ashamed to admit, that I actually flung the pizza slicer across the kitchen into the sink (making a loud noise always seems to make me feel a little better). I guess you could say I was having a little temper tantrum.

During the midst of this Dear Husband was doing his best to keep Harry quiet should the wrath of mommy fall upon him. He was opening the mail and asked if he could open something addressed to me. This is what arrived in the mail:

*GASP*  A letter from President Obama. Are you serious? He responded to my letter?

I know, I know…It’s just a form letter and has really nothing to do with my original concerns, but still.

Suddenly the floppy pizza wasn’t so bad. In fact it was pretty tasty.

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