A New Year's Miracle...

I'm gonna give it to you straight.  I have a husband who has been wishing our entire married life that he had a live-in Grandma.  Why you ask?  Because he wants someone to make homemade rolls, fresh raspberry jam and possibly churn butter for him.  NOTHING says "I love you" more than that combo for Ryno... except for when all those things combine in the holy trifecta of home baked goodness and the rolls are warm right out of the oven.  (Fine, I am indeed exaggerating about the churning butter part, but the rest he will vouch for)

So, of course, when he not so subtly hinted that my New Year's resolution should be to bake him delicious rolls from scratch for his birthday (and basically every Sunday from here on out - Yeah right) I acknowledged his request and secretly wielded my weapon of choice - "stubborn, ain't nothin' gonna stop me, let's do this" attitude.

You guys... maybe you didn't know this, but making rolls or any bread product is a PROCESS.  And for some reason I took this little challenge on during that magical four-thirty to five-thirty hour when you feel as if your children are little chickens who are literally going to peck you to death.  I'm a planner like that.  Lucky for me, they got involved in a killer game of "run & hide from bad guys" which led to strange periodic moments of silence (insert panic) and several quilts unloaded from the linen closet for safe hiding spots... but all-in-all I'll take those cards, you know?

You guys, I'm wildly happy about my finished product.  No seriously, MOVE OVER, Martha... this gal's comin' atcha.  I sort of flexed my baking muscles for anyone that would look via text messages and on Instagram @ambergwhiz (listen, this was a monumental victory for me) because I was am pretty pleased with myself.  Was it overkill to take as many pictures of this, my first batch of rolls, as I did of my first-born upon his delivery?  Probably.  Do I care?  No.  :)  Fine, exaggeration number two.  But I really did feel like maybe Grandma Elnore was smiling at me from above and singing Hallelujah with a chorus of angels at my bread baking success.  She'd do it up right too, trust me.

Anyway, you catch my drift.  RyGar and his occasional caveman mentality might just make a lady of me yet.  And there is no one else I'd do it for.  OK, maybe that small army of little men I spend my days with - but that's it.  I draw the line there.  Happy Birthday month, RyGar.  Oh, and please call your sweet Grandma for the jam please, this pioneer woman is pooped.

Fist bumps - Applause - Victory Lap - Grand Bow.

The End.