Friday, April 16, 2010


I love baking bread. There's something so soothing about the simple act of sinking your hands into dough. The scent of yeast, flour and a bit of sugar bring me back to childhood days at the kitchen table where I spent countless hours over the years watching my mom or grandma bake loaves of bread.

I know it sounds strange, but on the days I bake the house is a little cleaner, more orderly. It makes me a better mom.

Lately, I've been trying to make my way to a comfortable state of domesticity. The beds are made. The dishes are clean. And the house is picked up.

I don't want to become a modern June Cleaver. But I'm a homemaker. I want my children to think back on these years with fond memories of playtime, stories read while snuggled together on the couch and the scent of freshly baked bread.

Just like I remember.

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