The thing about it is, good mothers always make dinner for their family to show their love, so I would never order pizza on a Sunday night. I wouldn't give it to my two-year-old daughter, extra cheese and all and let her run around with it. I wouldn't be so busy blogging that I wouldn't get up to check out the succession of splats in the kitchen where both my mobile children were. I wouldn't even notice when they walked in to where I was sitting and seemed to be throwing something up in the air. I DID notice the marinara stains on my carpet which led me to the kitchen to see a dozen pieces of pizza all over the floor. I would never think, "This will be a great story for tomorrow!". I didn't video my children picking up all the pieces and putting them in the trash. And I would NEVER, EVER, let Belle have pizza again for breakfast. What kind of mother would I be?
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