The Best Kind of Dingleberry

We've had some weird randomly placed objects around the house lately.
(No, this isn't a post about "Why is a little kid heart dresser in a grown ass woman's master bedroom?" I've had it since I was a little girl, and it's useful, okay? One day I'm going to update it somehow to make it a big-girl dresser, so stop judging me.)

Patrick came home the other day to find a toy dinosaur kneeling in prayer at the foot of our bed. I wonder what he was praying about? I swear it was unmanipulated for this photo.

And later that night, we were looking for Patrick's phone, and caught it watching t.v. with us. No joke. We had no choice but to ground it since this is the second time this week it's been up watching t.v. past it's bedtime. Raising phones is all about setting strict boundaries.

One of Patrick's coworkers sent him home with homemade marinara sauce, so without question, we had to make a pizza. You know it's going to be good when enough drippings run off the pan to almost cause a fire in your oven.

Don't be alarmed by the gallons of smoke in our kitchen, our smoke alarms were completely unbothered. Aparently they only care if the whole house is on fire, not just the kitchen.  

Another way to gauge your homemade pizza'a awesomeness is by the presence and length of cheese dingleberries.

And by it's slice stretch factors.

Judging by all three categories, I'd rate this pizza as a 10/10.

What kind of scale do you use to rate your pizza? Find any strangely placed objects around your house lately?