Humility
May 18th, 2007 by amylherzog
I’m no Martha Stewart, I’m no June Cleaver. But some days, I come closer than others.
Challah. Jacob and I make it together every week. I get all teary whenever I think about how his childhood will be anchored and woven through with the smell of baking bread, the feel of flour and dough on his hands.
Asparagus-morel-gruyere bread pudding. Made with fresh, local ingredients.
Of course, life has a way of reminding me of my true place. Tonight, while reading books with Jacob, we had gotten halfway through “Where the Wild Things Are” when he started whimpering. He gave me what I can only call a dirty look, grabbed the book, climbed down out of the chair, and scampered over to where Jon was web surfing. He pulled on Jon’s pant-leg and whimpered “Dada! Dadaaa…” in the most pitiful little voice. You’d think I’d killed all four of the Teletubbies and the Baby Einstein turtle to boot.
As it turns out, I don’t roar my terrible roars, gnash my terrible teeth, roll my terrible eyes, or show my terrible claws quite as well as Daddy can. In fact, I wasn’t allowed to read him any book after that.
The little stinker.
Gosh, yes. I love the idea of a childhood marked by making bread every week, too. You’re a great mom.
Ooh, gorgeous challahs! Would you be willing to share your recipe (or tell me what cookbook it’s in? I might have it.)
Advice on involving a toddler in challah baking would be welcome, too. Kata mostly helps me spill some of the ingredients and watches what I do (more cooking, less baking). She can help a bit with mixing and play with other stuff in the kitchen like her own bowls of less messy ingredients.
The challah looks yummy. What a fun child you have.