You have a little ball of that five-minute artisan bread dough stashed in the back of your fridge, right? Yes? Good. No? Well then go mix up a batch (not to be redundant, but it’s fast—only takes, you know, like five minutes) and put it in the fridge.

Then this evening, pull a little container of cooked sausage from the freezer and set it on the kitchen counter to thaw. Grate a cup of cheddar cheese and a cup of mozzarella cheese and set them in covered bowls in the fridge. Brush a baking sheet with olive oil. Whisk together two eggs and a quarter cup of milk, a generous sprinkling of dried oregano and some black pepper. Put that bowl in the fridge, too. Go to bed.

In the morning, heat the oven to 400 degrees, roll out the blob of forgotten dough (or a hunk of the fresh dough), and sprinkle the oiled baking sheet with cornmeal. Place the dough on the sheet, using your fingers to press the dough thin, spreading it out so that it covers the bottom of the pan and up the sides a smidge.

Sprinkle the sausage over the dough, and then the cheddar cheese over the sausage. Next, drizzle on the egg mixture and top it off with the mozzarella. Bake the pizza for 10-20 minutes until the bottom has browned and the top is bubbly golden.

The variations are countless: sauteed veggies, bacon, caramelized onions, and plain cheese, just to name a few. If you want an eggier pizza, increase the eggs to four and add another half cup of milk, making sure your crust has a nice lip to hold the cheesy custard.

… and my glam mom.

Maybe an explanation is in order? Okay. Here’s the short version (there isn’t really a long version): my mother turned 60 and decided to take up extreme face painting. And hats. Green ones.

And then she made friends with a witch.

Okay, okay. All she did was turn 60 and try out for community theater and land a role in the chorus. She sang and danced. And looked glamorous.

The kids loved the play, except for The Baby Nickel who was tired to start with and left, kicking and screaming, after the first ten minutes. My dad, bless his heart, took him out and held the lunky kid, all 56 pounds of him (really only about 38, but the way dad looked afterwards I think it probably felt like every ounce of 56 pounds, and then some), for the whole two hours. It was the reason Dad was there—Baby Nickel Back-Up—so it wasn’t like we were shirking our parental duties.

Now Yo-Yo wants to act in a play, preferably The Wizard of Oz, of course. (How many of you can say you started your career in the theater after watching your grandmommy dance on stage?) Now, good homeschooling mama that I am, I’m keeping my eyes open for acting classes and children’s theater opportunities. And maybe there will even be something for me. I wouldn’t mind sporting a pair of ghoulish eyes and a perky hat myself. Might even beat out coffee as a pick-me-up.

Ps. Dorothy was there, too.