We did something a little different for Christmas dinner at my mom's this year: the Feast of Small Plates and Cups. The idea was to have a series of appetizers, individually portioned dishes, drinks and desserts that guests could munch on over the course of several hours. We began with appetizers such as fruit, veggies and dip, cheese and crackers, chips and salsa, sangria and bloody Caesars. Later, hot appetizers of meatballs, chicken wings, potato soup and samosa pinwheels were added to the table. The final small plate before dessert was homemade pizza, cut into small slivers.

The group included two children: my great nephew Dawson and my great niece Elsie. While my pizza dough was rising, I pulled out Honeycombs, a tile game with 52 six-sided tiles that players organize in honeycomb shapes by matching images on the tiles, much like in Dominoes. As I had just received the game for Christmas, I wasn't familiar with it, but Dawson and Elsie seemed to have a lot of experience with it. Each in turn attempted to guide me, my daughter and my mom through their version of the game. In the end, we had the most success with working collaboratively to build a honeycomb. Despite my lack of familiarity with the game, I was glad that I had brought it because it gave us something to do with the kids.

Later, as I was preparing to make pizza, Elsie asked whether she could help. If there's one dish made for little helping hands, it's pizza.

Elsie's mom took her to wash her hands, then Elsie returned in a flash, climbing up on a stool across the kitchen island from me. I placed one ball of dough on the floured countertop and patted it, telling Elsie that it was like patting a baby's bum. Elsie gave the dough ball a few gentle pats, then a few exuberant slaps. "Oh, don't pat the baby's bum too hard," I said.

I sprinkled some flour on my mom's rolling pin, which must be more than 60 years old, and started to roll out the dough. I then gave Elsie a try. She was remarkably at ease using the rolling pin, pressing firmly but evenly as she moved the tool in different directions. Clearly, she knew how to achieve a round shape. "I need a rectangular shape," I explained to Elsie, showing her the small rectangular cookie sheets that I would be baking my pizzas in. She looked at me, confused, and said: "A square pizza?" Despite her incredulity at my unconventional pizza shape, Elsie seemed willing to go along with it.

I picked up the flattened pizza dough and moved my hands around the edges, allowing gravity to help with the stretching process. "Throw it up in the air?" Elsie suggested enthusiastically. I told her that pizza throwing was beyond my capabilities. I placed the first shaped pizza dough on one baking sheet, and Elsie and I rolled out the second ball of dough.

Next, I dolloped mounds of tomato sauce on each pizza and let Elsie spread it around the dough with a spoon. Again, she did an impressive job. We then sprinkled shredded mozzarella cheese over the pizza sauce. For the first pizza, I covered it with vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, red pepper and red onion, mixed with a little olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper); I put Elsie in charge of quality control, asking her to let me know if I had missed any spots or put too much of one type of vegetable in one spot. For the second pizza, Elsie placed most of the pepperoni slices on top, doing an expert job of spacing them. I then slid both pies into the hot oven.

Elsie reached into the container of flour. "We don't need any more flour right now," I told Elsie. "But it's so soft," she said, lingering in the soft powdery grain.

As there was nothing more to do for the moment, Elsie went off to play in the living room. Soon after, I asked my daughter to let Elsie know that I needed her help again. Elsie came racing into the kitchen, announcing, "The chef is here." She proceeded to help me prepare and dress two more pizzas, then disappeared into the living room once more.

When our first batch of pizzas was cooked, rested, cut up and arranged on a beautiful charcuterie board that my brother (Elsie's grandfather) had made for me, we called Elsie to the table to come taste her pizza. "I made these," she declared. After a few bites, with guests stating that the pizza was very good, Elsie prompted, "Are you going to clap for me?" We all clapped heartily for Elsie.

Elsie turned six today. Happy birthday Elsie! You are a great little chef.