8:45 am on a Wednesday, and I've been listening to tantrums over my apparent
lack of foresight for going on three hours. My almost 4 year old son has decided
that he WILL have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And he WILL have it NOW.
In our family, this is not an unusual breakfast, and I'd be delighted to oblige,
but we've got no bread. What? No bread? A mother of three kids, five and under
who allowed her family bread stash to lapse? Oh, the guilt. Actually, I bought a
darling, wee little breadmaker that makes a darling, wee little loaf in *just 45
minutes* in an attempt to provide my family with fresh, hot, healthy bread. Let
me tell you, *just 45 minutes* is a freakin' eternity when SOMEONE wants a PB&J
at 5 am. And darling, wee little loafs have no place in a family of 5. I'm not a
morning person, so the act of stumbling out to the coffee pot is a herculean
task. Measuring precise amounts of wet and dry ingredients with bleary eyes and
a wailing toddler face down on the floor, while hissing "sssh! sshhhh! you're
going to wake your sisters!" through clenched teeth is an unpleasant way to
start the day.