She says that there’s nothing to eat.

I tell her what there is to eat. Some foods involve cooking. Some do not.

She doesn’t want any of the choices. Can I just eat this pepperoni?

Me: You’re not eating plain pepperoni for breakfast. There’s a pizza crust, sauce, and cheese. You could make a pizza.

Her: Could you make it?

Me: I’m not cooking now. You can make it.

Her: Why don’t you just make it?

Me: Because I’ve been cooking since third grade. You’re the one way behind with life skills, and at this age you’ll never catch up. But you just want to learn all at once the hard way when you’re 18 and you don’t know how to do anything.

Her: You just insult me.

Me: I’m just telling you the truth. I’m always trying to teach you but you don’t want to learn.

Her: You just insult me. This is why I hate being here when you’re home.

I leave to get my thoughts together. When I return I start watching a story on CBS Sunday Morning. She starts interrupting me asking where the sauce is.

Me: I’ll help you after I watch this story.

A couple more interruptions. A couple more firm insistences of after I watch this.

When I go into the kitchen, she’s reading the directions on the crust package. I show her what sauces we have. She’s positive and friendly. I give her pointers, but it’s she who makes the pizza and it turns out delicious.