Tonight is pizza night. Homemade pizza. This is the lull, the gentle rocking of the ship, the twenty-four hours between night and day shift. I am in a daze, tired, sleep deprived. But we are committed to eating at home and pizza will hit the spot. Prosciutto, roasted garlic, sundried tomatoes and leafy greens - fancy homemade pizza with homemade dough. The dough is easy: yeast, flour, sugar, salt and water - all thrown together in the stand mixer. But the part I love the best is working the dough before it goes off to nap, to rise. Ring off and shirt covered in flour I massage the consecration; stress falling from my shoulders to leaven neonatal crust. I feel useful, old-fashioned, redeemed. It’s as if homemade dough will erase my transgressions. I will be pardoned for working nights. For missing dinners and bedtimes. For not being home to enforce the rules, to instill order. For being exhausted. I am a good mother because I make pizza. Through dough I will be forgiven.
4 comments:
I am fed just coming here. Welcome home.
Sounds wonderful. Makes me want to give the mixer a break!
And tell you to give guilt a break, your wonderful.
I am inspired by your last few posts.
What a tremendously beneficial "housekeeping" of sorts you're tending to...spiritual housekeeping, mental housekeeping, physical housekeeping...
I love it. I, too, have begun cooking more. To my surprise, the kids have actually been eating it. When they realize that it's all their getting.
Not too shabby at all. And, an inspiration to at least one of us in blogland.
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