I live in a techie world- not all of my own design; and with two high-speed high schoolers, and a husband who is physically here, but is truly Linked In to the ethernet, I am smart enough to know that I only know enough to get something started before I seek their expertise (and their ridicule!) So, in a world that's speeding up faster than I can do a Google image search for 'Magic Mike,' I find myself seeking out rituals and practices from my youth (real or imagined) that let me determine (also real- or imagined) how fast I am speeding towards my Firstborn's first launching from the nest.  

With the updating of the annual calendar, (from one Marilyn Monroe monthly to the latest) I typically get caught up in the possibilities and potentials of how I can invent myself... and then I take a nap. However, something in me is different (the 2nd whole day in to the New Year.) In an effort to somehow make up for any/all remiss parenting, I was inspired to make homemade bread to nourish my family (~and to see if I really could make something passable that my ancestors probably knew how to do in their sleep. And, quite frankly, it was that or take down the Christmas decorations. Easy decision.) 

My Mom- she taught me everything I know

With only a few texts and panic phone calls to my Mom, (It says OATS. Does it mean white flour? I don't have any oats. How much should it rise. It's not rising! How long should it take to rise?) I can say I successfully spent an entire day making 5 loaves of bread. And, it was... average, but really satisfying. The house smelled wonderful. I felt a connection to the amazing lineage of women in my family who nourished generations with their own daily bread, and (using a traditional method) I actually felt... empowered? (Don't hold your breath for the homemade butter, however!)  

This is how it went down...

Conception

Uprising

Awaiting their virgin voyage

HOT... and buttered