Last week I had a meltdown.
Not the kind that come from being too hot...though that would be a good excuse this summer.
It was an honest-to-goodness...like-a-two-year-old...meltdown.
Yup, and all over a pizza...
A Frozen. Gluten-free. Cheese. Pizza.
The kind no one should have to eat when they want a pizza.
So let me paint the picture for you...
The weekend before we had traveled up to Lookout Mountain, GA for 3 days to see our son and his family.
No problem there...it was totally fun.
We arrived home very late Sunday night and I woke up early Monday morning to Vacation Bible School.
I'm glad it's already capitalized or I would have to do it...such a momentous undertaking deserves capitalization. Two hundred people together for five mornings...picture it...and me, an introvert amidst all the chaos.
So, Monday- Friday, kitchen labor at VBS.
The next Saturday morning we head out yet again for a different part of GA, this time for our Grandbaby's first birthday celebration.
More fun. More people. More commotion.
I thought I could handle it...but my thinking was a little cloudy by then.
It wasn't until Sunday dinner time, when my gluten-free pizza decomposed in the oven, dripping its gooey ugliness all over my daughter's oven that my own meltdown began.
Now in order to to fully paint the picture I need to let you know there were 15, yes, 15! ordered pizzas piled up on the counter near said oven...all warm, and fragrant, and ready to eat.
But not for me.
No, my dinner was melting down in the oven...a precursor to what was to come...
So what does a meltdown look like, you ask?
Flinging the smoking pizza out of the oven and into the sink, and then beating the life out of it with a spatula.
And then, with tears running down my face, grabbing the nearest Gluten-Full pizza and scarfing it down.
That's what a meltdown looks like.
Okay, so that was a fun story wasn't it?
Except it's not...fun...at all...