Why I'm Not A Food Blogger, Part 6,654

So.  Summer swim team begins right after Memorial Day.  For some reason generally related to tourism, our public schools do not finish until the middle of June.  June!  That gives us three weeks of afternoon/evening swim practice before the summer schedule kicks in.  That is to say...

Children come home from school and eat until I make them stop eating.
Children eat a healthy meal-sized snack before biking to 6:30pm swim practice.
Children come home from swim practice ravenous and eat the combined total of their previous two feedings.
That is to say...

They eat a lot of food.

I needed you to know.

(I don't know why.)

On Thursday of last week, I decided to make the boys a pre-swim pizza.

• I topped Ree's crust (the one I make every week of my life), with jarred sauce and pepperoni.  
• Using my pizza paddle, I slid parchment paper and pizza onto the lowest rack of the 500 degree oven, just like Mel taught me.
• I set the timer for 10 minutes and settled in to chat with Jennifer, who had stopped for a visit.
• Boys in bathing suits hovered in the general vicinity of the oven.
• Life was good.

Exactly nine minutes later, all heck broke loose.

• The phone rang at exactly the moment the fire alarm went off.
• I answered what turned out to be a business call, tucked the phone between ear and shoulder and waved my oven mitt wildly at the screaming alarm.  
• The oven timer went off mid-explanation, adding to the cacophony.  
• I opened the oven to find that the remnants of my last baking escapade had (once again) caught fire, igniting the parchment paper (which Mel says cannot happen, but which I have proven time and time again, can.). 
• With phone still tucked and alarm still screaming, I removed pizza with pizza paddle, tossed oven mitt to Bubba, and raced out the door to the relative quiet of the backyard.

By the time I returned, the pizza was gone, the children were gone, Jennifer was heading out, and I got on with my life.  I forgot all about the incident until I was downloading Molly's most recent photo shoot and saw these...

By all accounts, it was excellent (and apparently reminiscent of a wood-fired pizza, go figure.).

I have requests for a repeat performance.

Which is all well and good, but the point (here it is!) is this:

My (now favorite) child recognized that this was a blog-worthy event and acted accordingly.  His response when I thanked him for taking the pictures?

"I knew you would want them. I figured I could either wait for you to get off the phone or take them myself and eat the pizza."