In Which I Happily Become a Lemming and then Unhappily a Goose
Incidentally, the lemming part is completely irrelevant to the following story since it only involves me putting out the recycling since everyone else did and it then actually being picked up. The excitement of a suburban housewife... although does a military base count as a suburb?
Anyway, this afternoon I set out to bake some cinnamon bread for the sole reason that I promised our neighbor gold bars or the worth of up to half my kingdom in exchange for watching Trigger and Oswald while we were out of state. Considering that I own neither gold bars nor anything that would equate a kingdom, I thought cinnamon bread was my next best bet (naturally accompanied by a batch of homemade chocolate almond biscotti, which will not be shared with her husband who informed me that no one really likes biscotti--philistine!). So while Little Man was napping serenely, Tiny and I took a brief foray into the world of baking. Unfortunately for me, Tiny happens to be very distracting, and I was dumping out the dough onto the counter to start kneading (and wondering why it looked so odd) when I realized that I had left out the 2 cups of water the recipe called for. Yes. Really. So, to a chorus of "Tiny, your mother is such a goose" I proceeded to cover the entire kitchen with bread dough in an attempt to get the water to goosh in. Yes. Really. My prayers are with the bread that is currently rising on the oven, but my faith is smaller than a mustard seed.
I was glad, however, that I had the right son for my baking buddy. Sure, Tiny laughed gleefully at my misfortune and gurgled pleasantly as I transformed our kitchen into a floury, watery mess, but Little's favourite word right now is "dorkwad", and I'm not sure my fragile self-esteem could've held up to such truthful criticism.
Final note, I wanted to take a picture of the craziness as it was occurring, but sadly I am not followed around by a professional film crew and was unwilling to contaminate my camera with what I hope will be dough. I did, however, get this shot of us after I got things mostly cleaned up. Tiny is giving me his best look of sympathetic scorn.
Anyway, this afternoon I set out to bake some cinnamon bread for the sole reason that I promised our neighbor gold bars or the worth of up to half my kingdom in exchange for watching Trigger and Oswald while we were out of state. Considering that I own neither gold bars nor anything that would equate a kingdom, I thought cinnamon bread was my next best bet (naturally accompanied by a batch of homemade chocolate almond biscotti, which will not be shared with her husband who informed me that no one really likes biscotti--philistine!). So while Little Man was napping serenely, Tiny and I took a brief foray into the world of baking. Unfortunately for me, Tiny happens to be very distracting, and I was dumping out the dough onto the counter to start kneading (and wondering why it looked so odd) when I realized that I had left out the 2 cups of water the recipe called for. Yes. Really. So, to a chorus of "Tiny, your mother is such a goose" I proceeded to cover the entire kitchen with bread dough in an attempt to get the water to goosh in. Yes. Really. My prayers are with the bread that is currently rising on the oven, but my faith is smaller than a mustard seed.
I was glad, however, that I had the right son for my baking buddy. Sure, Tiny laughed gleefully at my misfortune and gurgled pleasantly as I transformed our kitchen into a floury, watery mess, but Little's favourite word right now is "dorkwad", and I'm not sure my fragile self-esteem could've held up to such truthful criticism.
Final note, I wanted to take a picture of the craziness as it was occurring, but sadly I am not followed around by a professional film crew and was unwilling to contaminate my camera with what I hope will be dough. I did, however, get this shot of us after I got things mostly cleaned up. Tiny is giving me his best look of sympathetic scorn.
