On Bread-making and Questionable Parenting

This summer, I set 2 goals for myself.  The first was to learn to bake bread.  The second was to resurrect my knitting hobby (which would necessarily include re-teaching myself the basics). 

Well, the knitting part never happened, but maybe that's a better winter goal, anyway.  I can console myself with that line of thinking, I guess.

The bread-making endeavor, I'm very happy to say, has been successful!!  After years of not really feeling satisfied with the shape and texture of breadmaker loaves, a good friend clued me in to an important secret.  She uses only the dough cycle on the machine.  Then, you remove the dough, shape into a loaf, let it rise, and then pop it into the oven.  Wa-la!!!  Excellent bread every time (well, so far that's true.  I'm sure there is a dud in my future). 

I was inspired to write this post this morning because I left my fermenting yeast on the counter, and the kids got sight of it.  I guess I'd never left it in a conspicuous location before.  Anyway, I heard cries of, "oooh, yuck, whose oatmeal is this???!!!"  No one had made oatmeal today, so I soon realized what they were looking at. 

"Don't dump it!!" I yelled from another room, "It's my yeast!!" 

They backed away from the bowl saying, "oh, oh, it's the yeast!!  Don't mess with it!!"  You see, nobody wants to interfere with the sacred bread-making process lest he jeopardize his opportunity to consume the results. 

I should clarify, however, that the youngest among us still prefers the store-bought kind.  Perhaps because the slices are thinner and easier for her to manage? 

I have a breadmaker on my Christmas wish list that would allow me to make 5-6 loaves at a time.  Santa, are you listening?

A luna moth caterpillar in our backyard.  Photograph by Lucy.

Anyway, I'm avoiding the topic of my latest parenting blunder, which may have turned out OK in the end.  Yesterday, Miss almost-4 woke up and immediately announced that she wanted to have her ears pierced.  I tried to maneuver away from the topic with one of those vague 'maybe when your dad gets home', statements.  I explained about the pain and the need to take care of them, etc.  She was undeterred.

In Indian culture, girls get their ears pierced in infancy.  So, I'm somewhat of a rebel in my husband's side of the family because I hold out a few years.  Big sister had hers done at exactly the same age Miss Felic is now. 

Driving home from Mass, she brought the topic up again, and after my reviewing the potential discomfort, etc., she stated plainly, "I can handle it, Mom." 

So, after dinner, we headed off to the mall.  We got it done.  And she cried and cried.  I felt like the worst parent in the entire world. 

Today, everything is OK, and she is very pleased with herself.  I feel slightly better, but only just.  I think I'll go bake some more bread.