Redneck Pizza

  ”Mommy can I have pizza, but I don’t want cheese on it, or sauce, or pepperoni”

OK then, plain bread it is.

   I did toast it and he has a glass of milk, I am not THAT bad of a Mom . So as my son eats his “pizza”   I am sitting here creating this blog so I can share with the entire world the insanity that is me. So welcome to my life, if you haven’t left yet to go call CPS on me for feeding my kid  plain bread for super. 

 I normally do cook regular meals. Pot Roast, pasta..yep I am a regular June Cleaver with a microwave. My Husband loves my cooking and I have no idea why.  I regularly screw things up, set things on fire … things that would give Gordon Ramsay an aneurysm. I would love to go onto one of his cooking shows just to see if I could finally be the one to set him over the edge and make him spontaneously  combust.

 The secret to being a good cook, marry a redneck. Sam would eat dog food if their was enough garlic in it or ketchup.

 Actually marry a redneck anyways, they are easy to please when it comes to almost everything. Just make sure they are not too red of a redneck, no wife beating cross burning kind, maybe one that is  more of a nice shade of pink. The pink shade of red necks are the ones who you can still attempt to train and make them safe to take into public.

I comb my hair and brush my teeth and Sam gets excited thinking we’re heading someplace special.He thinks 10 dollar nighties from walmart are sexy, because I read books and watch the news I am a genius.And for me I was tired of complicated men  and I don’t like surprises. With Sam what you see is what you get, hard working , loving  and happy with the simple things in life.

 But be warned, redneckiness is hereditary. My son Alexander may not yet be 6 and he may live in the city but I can already see him driving a truck, wearing his rubber boots, John Deer hat with a 3 legged dog.

 Well Alexander is done his pizza now, time for desert, which will be a glass of juice, or as he calls it, a melted Popsicle..