Define Typical

I've decided that learning how to make lots of kinds of bread is my new thing. Processed bread is just so...PROCESSED. It's normal to most of us, but when you start learning how to bake your own bread, the first thing you realize is that what you consider to be "typical" white bread, isn't typical at all. In fact, after having made a few loaves now, I'd like to throw out there that I'm not sure that any of us have any idea WHAT bread is supposed to be. We've lost the knowledge of what was once the norm.

Today I decided to learn to make English Muffin Bread. I recently picked up that Holy Grail of cookbooks at a consignment sale, the Betty Crocker Cookbook. I got the big one, not the version for girls who don't cook like I've used for 20 years.

The first thing I realized paging through the well worn BREADS section was this, there are about 1000 kinds of bread and bread products and none of them are a bit like your store bought white bread. They take work, they are hard and involve patience, and work. You have to pay attention to what is happening.

The girl and I made two loaves of English Muffin bread this morning, me doing the measuring and she doing the mixing. While the bread rose, I ran upstairs and took a quick shower, shaved my legs and hurried back downstairs. When I came back downstairs, I was overwhelmed with the undeniable fact that one or both of the twins needed a diaper. It was no joke and emergency status. 

A quick diaper change and and endless handscrubbing later it was time to bake the bread.

At that point a fight broke out in the living room, involving hair pulling and scratching. 

This is a normal Sunday. It's typical in my world. It's probably not typical in yours. It's unlikely that you have 8 year olds in diapers, or one who caterwalls like a desperate cat in heat for hours at a time. You don't have to juggle the 24/7 care of them with the balance of a two year old who is trying desperately to push her way out of the nest.

Life can be hard, take work and patience. But I think making bread has helped remind me that things worth having, ARE.

I feel more and more that there is no typical. Just variations of reality that are more or less in line with the mainstream. My typical kids are typical unto themselves, as are my special little guys. That's probably all that actually matters.

And they loved the bread. Which is obviously most important.

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