|Bread is done!|
There is something visceral in kneading dough. Turning four boring ingredients (flour, water, salt and yeast) into something that rises, warming the senses and filling the house with a tempting aroma, makes me feel a sense of accomplishment like little else. Who doesn't love fresh bread?
But bread-making isn't in my nature - I hate the clean up. Flour and water = sticky mess. It finds its way everywhere. In every crevice of my hand. Underneath my finger nails, then in my hair. The mess diminishes the enjoyment.
It's been a long week in Lake Woebegone-Bridgewater. School shootings in other states don't seem so far away when the local high school is delayed due to a bomb threat. It was so 21st century: e-mailed from an anonymous account.
Other highlights of the week: One of my kids nagged me as I drove the five miles to her school about how it will embarrass her too much if I go watch her cheer - until I couldn't take it anymore and barked at her until the earth shook. My other kid gave the finger to a parent. Yes. The middle one. Yes, it was in jest. Yes, I am MORTIFIED. Turns out, though - he didn't. The parents misunderstood - but I made my son cry when I said "YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO GIVE ANYONE, ESPECIALLY A PARENT THE FINGER!" It was clear he wasn't faking with his tears and "What are you talking about???" The parent misunderstood. He was pointing from his eyes (with 2 fingers shaped like a V) to the Dad's. In an "I'm watching you..." gesture.
Friday is here. I seek my PJs. I seek a glass of red wine. I seek comfort foods (bread and pasta - to hell with Atkins). I seek peace and security and warmth and love.
Peep, peep. The timer goes off. Something beautiful accomplished amidst my seemingly chaotic life.