Raising Bread and Children

I do not normally bake bread. In order to avoid disrupting the family’s economy, bread baking is a privilege reserved for the elite few (three to be exact), whose names appear upon the roster of an enterprise called “3 R’s Bake-N-Learn.”  

But then, today is not a normal day. Today, I need to clatter around the kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and slinging sticky measuring spoons at the sink. Today, I bake.      

The wire whip taps a twangy rhythm on the dented sides of my shiny stainless steel mixing bowl. By the time all the lumps have been reduced to a batter for the “sponge,” I’ve worked up a good sweat. It’s satisfying to pause and savor the aroma of warm, growing yeast while gooey brown bubbles vie for a place to pop atop a mysterious world of growth