See, in my head I'm this really amazing pinterest-like homesteader, serving wholesome food that I've made from scratch with ingredients from my garden. Meanwhile, lack of time, a toddler, plus HEB combo locos reel me in with back to school deals on bread, cheese, etc. and my poor little garden wilts away in the hot hot heat. The dissonance fuels my impatience...
So I took the chance to finally get something done while Cruz was sleeping. I rushed through the baking last night, willing the dough to rise faster while cursing the second phase of rising (2 hours total people!!). How can I reveal my inner domestic goddess when this is taking so damn long!!!???!!! Argh!
When the bread was finally done, I felt oddly unsatisfied. Sure, it was tasty, especially fresh and warm out of the oven with a pad of butter (store-bought, not homemade, ugh). But the most important reason for making the bread was asleep. It saddened me that I couldn't immediately share this with him; not the bread, but the moment. I knew Cruz would have loved to help me make it. He would have put gobs of flour in his mouth, kneaded the dough with his little fingers, smiled when he got to roll it, just like patty cake.
In my haste, I missed the chance to bake bread for the first time with my most enthusiastic helper.
Lesson learned. I need to just slow down. Just like the dough, things take time. I was too obsessed with getting back on track with my vision that I didn't stop to see who I was leaving behind. Two year olds are slow at everything, but thank god because life goes by too fast.
So from now on, I'm going to practice some slow living. Only then can I savor the moment, the bread, and all the goodness of life.
