Well, one recipe didn’t go quite as planned.
What pains me particularly is that this isn’t just any recipe. Oh no. This is Sarah’s Grandma’s special French Bread recipe. Instead of a beautiful loaf of fluffy and delicious French Bread, I ended up with one of those paddles that they don’t allow in schools anymore. All it’s missing is the holes. The thing weighs like a brick.
As I was re-reading the notes to the recipe to try and determine where I went so awry, I noticed Sarah’s preface:
this is a family recipe of my Grandma’s. At our family reunion recently they handed some favorite family recipes out. It amazes me that my Grandma went to these lengths with food when she had 7 kids and a farm to run.
7 kids and a farm to run? Shoot, I had my 5 year old in school and my 3 year old watching Rio when I attempted this recipe. It’s not like I had chickens to feed and cows to milk while trying to homeschool a brood of children. At moments like these, it’s easy to feel that we are somehow falling short, isn’t it?
Take for instance:
- The day I have to send my daughter to preschool in purple pants and a green polka dot dress and princess socks because the laundry’s well overdue,
- The time I go to clean out the fridge and yet again, something’s growing prettier hair than me,
- Or the evening guests came unexpectedly so I madly shove everything into the laundry room.
Truth be told, I’m no domestic goddess. Not even close.
But I’ve made peace with all this; I’m not complaining. I’m not Sarah’s Grandma – and I bet she’s a lovely woman! – but I’m not her. Nor am I my mother, or anyone else’s mother. I’m not iheartorganizing or Pioneer Woman or this blogger who coordinated her books by color. I’m Angela Russell, and I have some successes, and some failures, but most of all, I have fun being me.
And you know what? I think the birds are going to just love my version of Sarah’s Grandma’s French Bread.