I ordered a new sourdough starter a few weeks back.  I tried maintaining one right before we brought Dumpling home, but I found I couldn’t keep up with it and the children weren’t the biggest fans of the bread that came from it.  I’m hoping they have more mature palates now, and are ready for the spectacular healthy(ier) goodness of the sourdough experience.  I’ve been feeding and discarding, feeding and discarding.  Waiting for the bubbly wonderfulness that signals it’s ready to go to work.  I tried making biscuits on Monday.  That was a miserable fail – good flavor but too dense.  Maybe it was too soon.  I think my starter needed more time to establish itself and get to know me a little better.  And now that I’ve named him, I think he’s ready to rock.  Yes, Simon and I are going to be the best baking buddies.  BBBs.

The smell of homemade bread is so … mmmmmmmm.  It reminds me of my Dad and all of the comforts of home.  I hope that when my children are grown and smell a loaf of bread baking in the oven, it will remind them of home too.  Of good things and simple times when they could just be kids.  Of the safe place where they learned about love and grace and forgiveness and mercy.  Where back scratches, hand massages, and read alouds were plentiful.  And where mom baked yummy deliciousness in the kitchen.