On Baking Bread

I am new to the world of bread baking. Prior to my Christmas acquisition of the fanciest bread machine ever (thanks, Husband), I only attempted making bread from scratch a couple of times. The outcome was delicious, but I wasn't quite convinced that it was worth the time commitment. There was a lot of waiting. Mix...rest...knead...rest...shape...rest...bake...rest. I just wasn't willing to put in the time for something as simple as a loaf of bread.

Now armed with a machine to do all the resting for me, I was sure I could do no wrong. Follow directions, dump in ingredients, push start, and voila! I would have bread. But it's not that simple. A few nights ago, I attempted whole wheat bread. I measured, dumped, programmed the machine, and waited. About halfway through, I decided the dough looked too wet, so I opened the lid and sprinkled in a little extra flour. I was feeling quite perceptive, attuned to the bread's needs. I patted myself on the back a little, knowing that extra sprinkle had made all the difference; but, when the cycle ended, I found a loaf with a beautiful rim and a lifeless, deflated middle.

I tried again later that night. I once again measured and dumped; but this time, feeling extra savvy, I used the timer so we would wake up to the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread. Brilliant, right? The next morning, I woke to an aroma, but it wasn't necessarily pleasant. I came downstairs to find the ingredients baked into a rock hard form, but completely unmixed.

I was perplexed. I googled. I searched bread making message boards to see what could have possibly gone wrong. I contemplated calling the "Baker's Hotline" (yes, that is a real thing), but was afraid of sounding like too much of a novice to ask the right questions. As I stared at the machine, vowing to only make white bread from now on, I saw them. 

After washing out my pan from the day's first disaster, I had forgotten to put the paddles back in. I had taken away my machine's ability to mix. It tried to run its course anyway, but without paddles, it was helpless.

So, tonight, I tried again. Third time's a charm, right? I made sure all the parts were in the machine. I followed the directions exactly. I did not open the machine at all during the three and a half hour cycle. I waited patiently. And finally, I produced a loaf of bread fit to be consumed.

It's funny how the smallest things made such a big difference. I couldn't help but think that raising a child is a lot like baking bread. As the mother of an almost two year old, I find my days are rarely as expected. C is learning so much right now. She is full of energy and vocabulary and wonder; and, if I'm not patient enough to let her work out her thoughts, to let her describe a color or tell me about her princess castle or brush her own teeth, then she won't rise to her best. If I don't step back and let her grow, I'll crush her spirit, leaving her deflated and lifeless.

She is a sponge, so eager to learn; but, if I don't provide her with the right tools, no matter how hard she tries, the finished product will remain unfinished. If I tell her to paint, but provide no canvas, she learns nothing. If I expect her to learn her alphabet and colors and numbers, but never read or practice or play with her, I can expect the lesson to remain on the surface.

It is easy to become frustrated when there are tantrums over teeth brushing and refusal to eat anything green and resistance to sitting still and listening during a story. It is difficult to fight the urge to help her put on her shoes; or to convince her that when the blocks are stacked that high, they will fall down every single time; or to stop her when she is counting to ten and skipping the number seven. She is busy and loud and excited and funny and soaking in every single thing around her. It is only when I am patient, when I fight the urge to help in the middle of the process, when I provide the right resources, when I let her take it all in and rest, that she will truly rise to her potential.

Because, when you have all the right ingredients and pay attention to the details, you can't help but smile at the finished product.

I may have this baking/parenting thing down after all.

The Great Narrator

They say to help teach your child language, that you should talk about everything you do, narrating your day in hopes that some of it will stick. I've been doing this for some time and it is obviously working, but today, I had a revelation.

If you narrate your every move so that your toddler will learn, they will learn to narrate their every move.

C now tells me everything she's doing while she's doing it, often in triplicate (a habit I must have).

Heard daily around our house:

"Wash, wash, wash" (while washing her hands)

"Dry, dry, dry" (while drying her hands)

"Rock, rock, rock" (while rocking her baby or while being rocked by me)

"Clean, clean, clean" (while helping me dust or wipe up a mess)

"Up, down, up, down" or "step, step" (while on the stairs)

"Socks and shoes" (while putting on socks and shoes)

"Eat, eat" (while pointing to food she has deliberately dropped on the floor for the dog)

Other favorite phrases:

"It's okay"

"Oh no"

"No, no, no"

"It's all gone" 

"Mik pease" ("milk please")

"It's a cow! Mooo"

"It's a puppy!" "Puppies!"

"Hi!"

"Bye!"

"Car! Beep beep!"

Watch what you say. Nothing is a secret around here!

Aaaaah Choo

Children are sponges. For every thing I intentionally teach her, C picks up five more things unintentionally. Months and months ago, when she was just starting to laugh at me, I developed a few bits. One that almost always got a laugh was to put something on top of my head, dramatically "sneeze" and have it fall off. Hilarious, right?

Fast forward to now and C thinks that "aaaah choo" is the sound to make when anything falls. She puts a block on her head and proudly says, "aaaah choo" as it falls. She smiles at me for reassurance. And I applaud.

One day very soon, she'll figure it out. But, until then, I am enjoying the sweet sound of her voice sneezing all day long. And I am gently reminded that she is watching and copying everything we do!

A Mother's Mommy

You know how sometimes, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at a certain angle or you start dancing in the car to your favorite new song or you catch yourself saying things like, "nothing good happens after midnight" and you think, I am officially my mother. 


Luckily, I can't think of a better person to see in my reflection. 


I may look like my dad, but there is no doubt that I am my mother's daughter. We are so very similar from the way we make to do lists with things already done on them (just so we can cross them off) to the way we cry uncontrollably during a Publix Mother's Day commercial. 


The simple similarities make me stand back and laugh a little at times, realizing that the older I get, the more and more I act just like her. Whether it's spending 10 minutes making a bow for a present or rearranging the living room by myself at 11:00 pm because I just had a feeling it could look better. But it is the greater moments that I have experienced these past fourteen months, that make me realize that everything I am as a mother, I learned from her. 


Whether she realizes it or not, all those years she was lovingly raising me from lullabies and bubble baths to dance recitals and boyfriends, she was teaching me how to be a mom. I often find myself singing the same songs she sung to me as a child and reading the same books with the same inflections. As I read I'll Love You Forever to C before bed, I am five years old again in a room decorated in stenciled sheep, leaning on Mom's shoulder. When I sing My Favorite Things at bath time, I am six years old, in a pink and blue tiled bathroom, having my long curly hair rinsed clean with a plastic cup as I tell Mom all about my day. When I serve my family dinner and sit down to join them, I feel the same warmth and fullness that was felt at our family dinner table over something as simple and delicious as Chicken Divan.


It's easy to overlook the subtleties and the mundane of each passing day, to let them pass by without paying them a bit of attention. But, it is the mundane moments that will shape my daughter into the mother she will hopefully become one day. Something as seemingly insignificant as our car conversations and sing-a-longs will one day be something she shares with her children. The way I brush her hair and snuggle her in my lap as we read a book before bed, will be the way she does it.


How do I know these things? Because I learned them all from my mommy.


It is nearly impossible to thank someone for a lesson as great as motherhood; but today, on my second Mother's Day, I am thankful for the woman who taught me everything I know and who is an even better grandmother than she is a mother. Thank you for always being there to sing, to love, and to listen. These were the greatest gifts you could ever give me.


Happy Mother's Day!