Roosters, Rolls and Reverie

If life was not sufficiently barn-like around our house with four young children, of whom three are boys, we have now added a rooster to the mix. Dave is moonlighting as an on-line math tutor bi-weekly for two hours from 7:30-9:30pm. This entails the man of the house set up at his computer, along with some fancy gear on loan from his secondary employer, while students wait in an electronic line to tap into his mathematical knowledge. This service is available to any student in our province five nights a week for four hours.

Apparently some of the tutors needed a notification system to let them know of the presence of a waiting student; because, two weeks into Dave's tutoring, the computer began to crow. No one warned me of the new rooster notification system and thus, as I said prayers with the kids and read them a bedtime story, it was not only the kids who were startled from their reverie by a cockle-doodle-doo.

With the passage of time we have all become somewhat inured to the unnerving crow of the computer. However, tonight Daddy has an early shift with his rooster and apparently millions of students are now doing their math homework because the computer is crowing like a manic rooster at dawn.

But that's OK, because the early shift cut into dinnertime which, on account of my insufferable baking, needed to be drawn to a close. I had served beef and barley soup along with whole-wheat rolls. I am a pretty proficient cook ... as cooking does not necessitate the exact following of a recipe. However, baking does. My efforts to be somewhat like this lady resulted in empty tummies. (The only thing that ends up full after my baking attempts is the compost.) While halving the recipe, I somehow forgot to do likewise with the salt. I tried to compensate with extra flour in which to disperse the salt...

After the oven, I then tried to mask the odd flavour with loads of jam piled on top of the bun. The kids made their way through the jam and then held the rolls up and said things like:

This tastes funny.

Do I have to finish this?

Something's wrong with this.

(And other classic lines drawn from the endless wealth of childhood excuses to leave the dinner table.)

Joe just held up the de-jammed bun and passed it back to his father.

Dave laughed and quipped that if my relationship with baking came before the marriage tribunal I would be guaranteed an annulment because no valid relationship between me and baking has ever existed. I have to agree: I don't think I understood what I was getting into when I attempted to wed my skill with the intricacies of baking.

And there you go, I have somehow managed to make an awkward transition from on-line tutoring to my failure in the kitchen. And, believe it or not, the two youngest just came in riding horses. Neigh. Neigh. Cockle-doodle-doo. Someone take out the compost!