Adventures in Pizza Making (In other words, I suck.)

Well, my vow to swear off baking for at least a month lasted a whole 12 hours, as yesterday MissAngelLittleGirl announced that her chin (still bearing three stitches from my inability to catch) would feel better if I made her some chocolate chip cookies. I used up the last bits of every kind of chocolate in the house, odds and ends of Scharffenberger, Ghiardelli, and Nestle, and the cookies are truly fabulous. She ate three as soon as they came out of the oven, then informed me that her mouth hurt too badly to eat a soft, diced pear, with some small pieces of cheddar cheese.

I'm fairly sure all kids think their parents are stupid, not just mine. Anyway, that SO didn't fly, and she ate well for the rest of the day. Well enough that I saw my way clear to use my shiny new pizza stone to make us a gourmet apple, bacon, and cheddar pizza for lunch. I have a nice fresh batch of low yeast dough (did I mention I'm NOT baking, tee hee?)  So I rolled a pizza out, grated the cheese and sliced the apple, and was waiting to start the bacon till the pizza was in the oven. I like to put it on the last couple of minutes so it doesn't scorch.

I dusted the "pizza peel" (I'm using a non-stick cookie sheet.) liberally with cornmeal, laid out the pizza, topped it, and waited for the oven to come to temperature.

Meanwhile, MissAngelToddler is running from one end of the couch to the other, squealing like a pig. So I pull her off, visions of paramedics still dancing in my head, only to go back out to the kitchen to shoot the pizza into the oven.

The pizza didn't shoot, and the squealing coming from the living room clearly meant that the baby was bouncing full force across the couch again. Dammit.

I jumped. Cheese hit the roof of the oven, cornmeal scattered on the bottom, smoke shot out of the oven, and I dropped the cookie sheet on the floor with a bang, which caused the little girl with the stitches to come running at the oven full force screaming, "Mommy, are you okay?"

I caught her this time. I'm guessing visions of paramedics are still dancing through her head as well.

Carried her in, grabbed the bouncing toddler, and put her on the floor again. She was really having a fabulous time at this point. And, back to the pizza, which had folded over itself in the rough shape of a Stromboli, toppings and cheese all over the inside of the oven. Undaunted, I picked the whole thing up, (Thank God the pizza stone has handles) sealed the Stromboli, put it back in the oven and called it a day.

Except, I'd promised MissAngelLittleGirl pizza. And you just don't change the menu plan on a three year old. And no matter what I called the remarkably tasty contraption that came out of the oven (baked grilled cheese? Apple Cheddar roll up? Stromboli? Cement? Big old rock?) Nothing... No power on this earth...would get the kid to put one single bite in her mouth. So she's eating fruit now.

And begging for cookies. Of course.