1 Mother 2 Another

I got off work a bit early today and decided to get in some “real” Christmas shopping, blatantly taking advantage of my mother’s babysitting.  I spent time earlier going through Maddie’s shopping list and deciding what would be ordered online and what I’d pick up at Buy Buy Baby because it was either cheaper or back-ordered or too big and bulky to ship at a somewhat decent cost.  At last, I’d get the chance to get out there and get my hands dirty!  Let the blissful browsing and impulse-buying begin!

Two hours later, I’m standing on the street in front of Bloomingdale’s with half the population of Manhattan, trying vainly to flag down a cab during 1) the start of rush hour, and 2) the shift change of all taxi drivers in the city.  Twenty minutes of unsuccessful peremptory arm-waving later, I had one question:

After calling my husband and pathetically pleading with him to pick me up at the subway station (in my defense, no one told me how big those foam puzzle mat blocks would be, much to my fellow strap-hangers’ chagrin,) I tumbled wearily into the house.  As I passed through the front door into my (cleaner than I left it) living room, my senses were assaulted by the aroma of freshly baked bread. 

Yep, my mom made bread.

From scratch.

She’s pretty well known for her bread-making abilities, and today she took the opportunity to tutor Madeleine in baking with yeast.  Outside, it’s miserable and sleeting, but inside the house is cozy and sparkling, full of delicious smells, and my daughter is cooing happily, her face cracking into a huge grin as she sees me round the corner.