Andrew is 16, going on 17. He’s my first born–the first child we sang to sleep, and taught to swim, and marveled at as his voice changed. We love him so terribly much it’s crazy.
He’s a studious sort of fellow. I’ll find him late at night peering through some history book, and when I ask him if he’s getting his homework done he’ll say, “Oh, already did that. I was just curious about…”
Anyway, it’d take forever to really introduce you to that boy. Like any child, like any young man, he’s filled with dreams, and hopes, and talents, and stories. Especially stories. He wants to be a writer.
And he and his sister (the sister from Episode One) are exactly opposite in so many ways, except for this. When I asked Andrew what he wanted to bake with me–to then give away–he shouted, (quite loudly) CINNAMON ROLLS! Wow, my cinnamon rolls must be good. So, we decided which night to begin the process and you know what happened? Too much homework.
He, however, didn’t want to settle for scones, and I, again, wasn’t about to bail him out and mix sweet dough on my own. So we waited.
The next night, right after dinner, we cleaned the dishes together and got to work. Music goes hand in hand with manual labor in our home, so I told him to choose a playlist. He blasted some of his moody music, hefted ingredients out of the cupboard, and I started measuring. He cracked the eggs, and almost put in three tablespoons of yeast–but I yelled loudly over the music and we got that fixed. I heated the milk, he measured out the salt., etc… Good times.
The dough was rising and we made our plan.
Give to first period classmates and teacher, all who have to endure pre-calculus early in the morning!
Mix them Wednesday night, bake them Thursday morning. Give them fresh out of the oven–maybe even share with the carpool kids since they’ll have to sit and smell them all the way to school…
School’s almost out and he won’t see these folks for months. Plus, in order to survive pre-calculus, you have to form a certain cinnamon-roll-kind-of-bond…
Measure, mix, sing, knead, sing, wait. Flatten, sing, roll, sing, cut,
sing, put in the fridge.
Sleep. Wake up. Turn on the music, sing, heat the oven, sing, bake.
And out the door he went, a whole pan of cinnamon rolls in his possession, still singing on the way out.
And did he come home with the pan? Nope.
But, he did say that the cinnamon rolls were well received. That he enjoyed baking with me so much, that he’d even do it again!
So, that’s a miracle,
that’s Episode Two.
Only two more family members to go (since the fish doesn’t count).