Small Mysteries

Today I plan to bake bread all by myself. I'm intimidated because bread baking is one of those tasks that once you start you have to finish, and it takes hours, even if part of it is waiting for the dough to rise. But perhaps it can be relaxing, creative, and rewarding, and nicely dovetailed with any enjoyable task I can think of. All I can do is jump in.
In my quest to begin the Feingold program, I had a nice little chat with the pharmacist yesterday. I figure there's no point in putting any effort into starting the program if the meds are full of artificial colors and flavors. The pharmacist was pleasant and helpful enough, (God, I miss my dad.) and the next step is call the physician for samples of the adult formularies. Plus a mortar and pestle to crush the half pills to dilute them in pear juice or milk.
This Feingold business is worth a shot, but I have a funny feeling that Ana is exposed to something at daycare that she doesn't come in contact with often at home. The daycare is a wonderful place, but I just would like to figure out what it is that sets her off. Yesterday evening, Leon commented that she was positively vibrating with excess energy. Something she comes in contact with is firing up those ants in her pants. Maybe it's worth keeping a journal of her behavior before beginning the program as well as during. Again, all I can do is give it a shot.

Holiday Baking Failures

Christmas Day has come and gone, and I am still working my way through holiday cards and baking. The baking, alas, has not gone well this year. My gingerbread fell, leaving a crater perfect for a huge dollop of whipped cream. Then my mini pound cakes overflowed and the batter fell onto the heating element, filling the kitchen with the smell of burnt cake. I stood in the kitchen like an idiot with my hands over my mouth as my husband scraped the batter into the middle of the oven floor, where it promptly caught fire. He smashed out the fire with the spatula while my daughter cheerfully suggested throwing water into the oven. If that wasn't bad enough, on Christmas Eve, I put baking powder instead of baking soda in the chocolate chip cookie dough. I added the bakig soda in a lame attempt to fix things, but the cookies melted and spread into each other in the oven. They ended up tasting like gooey chocolate chip flavored crackers. My younger daughter, who evidently has not yet developed any taste, enjoyed them immensely although she ended up covered in chocolate. I decided maybe the mess would work better as bars, so I now have squares of Cookie Disaster for dessert. No one on my list has received baked gifts or cards yet, but I remain ever resolute and optimistic, holding out for the Feast of the Epiphany as my new deadline. Next year, I'm sending Valentines.