It's not delivery... it's DiBrenna

One day last week, Brenna decided she was okay with staying home along while I went to to pick up Austin from school.  There are several caveats to her staying home alone.  

1)  I can't go anywhere other than his school.  

2)  I can't linger and chat with Austin's teacher or the ladies up front.

3)  She must call me at least 2 times before I get to his school, and it's only a 10 minute drive at the most.

As I was driving along, I realized that I should have preheated the oven before I left.  I thought about asking Brenna to turn on the oven, but I wasn't sure what temperature I needed.  Then it occurred to me that she CAN READ NOW!  So I called her up (in between her calls to me) and asked her if she would help me out.  She was VERY enthusiastic at the prospect of helping me with that night's dinner.  It was homemade pizza... the very first time we were making it.  She quickly located the dough canister in the fridge and had no trouble finding the instructions on the label.  Then she was over to the oven to get it turned on.  Fortunately I have used the oven enough times to remember the sequence of events to get the dang thing turned on.  Gone are the days of turning one knob to bake and the other knob to the desired temperature.  Now you have to push a button here, select the desired temperature there, and stand still for a retina scan before it will even turn on.  And don't even get me started on the difference between "cook time" and the "timer" buttons. 

Once I got home with Austin, she practically tackled me asking me when she could make the pizza.  What?  Make the pizza?  You want to help?  Who are you and what have you done with my Brenna?  She spread out the sauce, generously added cheese and topped it all off with pepperoni on one half.  The results were quite impressive.

Good grief, there's the gum sticking out of the corner of her mouth again.

 

And I guess she's got the baking bug now.  Today she wanted to bake cookies.  If this goes on too much longer, my waistline is going to suffer even more than it already is.

Into the oven with a little leg flair and head tilt.

Hurry up Mommy.  My hands are burning!

No cookies were harmed during this process or ended up on the floor.  Poor Jennie.