I must admit how pleased I am when my kid says he's hungry and asks for toast with jam and says, "Make sure it's that bread you made!!" I don't really bake much over the summer, and so just yesterday I finally baked off some loaves. I was indifferent to the idea initially, but once the bread came out of the oven it clicked in me as it does every year: oh, this is so worth it! This buttermilk bread recipe came from Laurel's Kitchen Bread Book, which is one of my favorite bread books.
This picture below was my Friday night still life. And the reason why I didn't post yesterday. I'm amazed that now that I have time (my son is in kindergarten--there's so much time now!) I can't get my act together and post everyday. But when he was home with me all the time, somehow I did. I think it's because this blog was all I had to make me feel like a human being, and I kept this space sacred as a place where I could hold onto my identity. Now it's not so pressing, which is nice. So, last night there was warm bread, and some red wine, and a fire going in the wood stove and I thought: you know what? It totally doesn't matter if I throw something up on the blog. And I promptly watched some terrible show on Netflix, then fell asleep. It wasn't heroic, but it felt nice.