A Lesson In Breadmaking

Shortly after Tyler and I got married, I started making homemade bread for us. It’s cheaper for us to make it than to buy it, and I like to bake, so it seemed like a good option. I was raised by a mother that believed that cooking is a valuable skill that everyone should learn. I had my dad’s favorite cookie recipe memorized when I was thirteen, and I have known how to proof yeast since about that same time. However, when I started making bread every few weeks, I learned quickly that I was far from an expert in the bread department, and I was frustrated.

Tyler was a good sport, as always, and he ate the bread, but it was dry and not delicious. It was very aggravating for me, but I also felt like I had done everything right, so I didn’t know how I could make it better. I blamed the failed bread on various things such as the low temperature of our house and the fact that I didn’t have dry milk, so I was using a substitute. Tyler wondered if it was the recipe, but I had tasted heavenly bread from that recipe that my mom had made. Needless to say, I was exasperated.

I'd just like to pause in my story for a minute to explain a few things. I love bread. A lot. I love it more than dessert. I am of the opinion that delicious, well-made bread can change lives and lift hearts. I also don't like failing. Most people don't, but I especially do not like to feel like a failure in the kitchen. I love to cook and bake and make deliciousness, and I'd like to think I'm pretty competent, so this bread was seriously getting on my nerves and facilitating extreme frustration.

Finally, a few weeks ago, I decided to stop making excuses. Obviously, this bread struggle was my own. I determined to make an amazing batch of bread or destroy the kitchen in the process. It was a Saturday, and we didn't have anything to do until quite late at night, so I dedicated my whole day to the pesky bread. I ended up relearning a lesson I've been learning all my life.

Here's a copy of the text I sent to my mom after the bread came out of the oven: "After being married for five and a half months, I made delicious bread today. My secret? I didn't rush the process. How is it that I am still learning that lesson everyday??? The only consolation is that I have an amazing partner that is the best possible teacher for that." I should clarify by saying that I am not an inherently impatient person. I actually am quite patient in some circumstances, but simultaneously, I am constantly looking ahead to the future. I've always been fascinated by what comes next whether that be in life, my day, or even my baking. This is not always a good trait. While sometimes it pays to be thinking ahead and planning, sometimes it filches the joys and wonder of the present.

I was especially bad at this as a teenager. I was always wishing I could just move on with life, and as far back as I can remember, I have had the five years after graduation from high school planned out almost to the month. I'm sure that a lot of the time Heavenly Father was just thinking, "Don't rush me, Ash. I know best." The thing is, my life now was not part of the plan. It's so much better than I could have dreamed. So naturally, after having all my careful planning upended, I thought my lesson had been learned. Evidently not. Maybe I read into my bread making more than I needed to, but I really believe that Heavenly Father was sending me a little reminder not to rush Him or His plan. He knows best, and I know that. Sometimes I just need to be slowed down, and apparently, using bread as an object lesson was a perfect way to communicate the message this month.

I'm still learning this virtue of being still and recognizing the beauty and joy of the moment every single day. It's a really good thing that I married Tyler. He is such an amazing example. He is so good at knowing when we should plan and when it's okay to just snuggle and whisper and play and not worry about our life in twenty years (and yes, I am prone to do that). I'm so blessed to be married to such a wonderful man. He is constantly teaching me wonderous and beautiful things. So folks, don't rush the process, and you may end up with some delicious homemade bread (and a heap of blessings too)!

Please Excuse the Waterworks

Daddy and Me

When I met Tyler, he introduced me to a tv show called Psych. I thought it was really funny, but the first time I saw Gus crying and heard his explanation I thought, No way. This cannot be real. In the show, Gus proclaims to be a sympathetic crier. I'm hear to tell you that I am living proof that that is a real thing.

I'll never outgrow this lap.

I am a sympathetic crier. I am also a simple crier. I cry for every emotion: sadness, anger, happiness, being overwhelmed, feeling spiritually moved, and pretty much every other emotion under the sun. I don't mind crying. I actually enjoy it in an absurd way. It makes me feel more relaxed and cleansed. I’m not ashamed of being an emotional person, and Tyler says it’s even attractive, but there is a certain sense of self-preservation that I have adopted in response to my overactive tear ducts. That self-preservation has kept me away from my blog for the past little while.

It seems like no matter what I want to write about, this flood of overwhelming emotions attacks me, and my brain is like, “Aaaaah! Just ignore it. Don’t write. We cannot handle another emotional breakdown right now!” I’ve decided to ignore that voice. The truth is, being able to cry is important for me just like some people think it’s important to exercise. (I’m still fighting that ideology).

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad the last few days, and I’ve found myself feeling really emotional, even more than normal. I couldn’t even bring myself to write this post or post a picture of him for Fathers Day for fear that I would dissolve into a puddle. I think that for most little girls, her dad is her first hero and her first prince. My dad is no exception. He understands and knows me in a way that is uniquely...fatherish. I idolized him when I was really little, and after a brief break in my adoration (from ages 12 to 14), I was back to thinking he’s pretty much the coolest guy around (with the exception of Tyler, of course).

When I was teeny tiny, my dad would tell people to ask me why I was so cute. They would humor him, and my response was, “Good genetics.” My dad trained me to say that as soon as I could talk, so naturally when Tyler romantically asked me why I was so beautiful after we started dating, I said, “Good genetics” and then felt embarrassed and proud of my dad’s brainwashing skills simultaneously. Needless to say, my dad has a great sense of humor.

Apparently, he isn't the only one
with a sense of humor.

My dad also instilled in me a love of literature and deep thinking. My mom facilitated those things as well, but my dad is the one that pushed classics such as The Scarlet Letter, Frankenstein, The Poisonwood Bible, and Edgar Allen Poe’s literary collection into my hands. Of course, after I read, we had to rehash and discuss and learn together. Books were sometimes the only things we agreed on, and that was okay because my dad also taught me (with my mom’s help) that you can disagree with someone and still love and respect them. When I was five years old, my dad read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone out loud to Hailey and me. I was enthralled. I had to remind myself later when I was sobbing as I continued on the Hogwarts Express, that he did that because he loved me and not because he wanted to introduce a literarily induced pain into my life. Little did I know that about seven years later he would plop a pile of books no twelve year old could read onto my bed in order to pull me out of a sappy Mormon romance novel phase. Thanks Dad, I owe you one.

This is after the tradition of running
through the finish together as a family.

Fathers Day has had me thinking a lot about my dad, but I also just spent three days with his mom and sisters, and that was thought provoking as well. My dad isn’t the same little boy that they tell stories about, but some aspects of his life are the same. He still loves adventure and teasing, and he’s a cowboy deep down. He loves to be outside and to challenge himself mentally, physically, and spiritually. He knows how to work hard, and he taught me that if there is work to be done, I would do well to put my energy into it. He set an example of serving other people, even if that means not being able to finish his own projects or do what he wants to be doing. He also showed me how women should be treated. He treats my mom like a goddess, and I have never doubted his love for her. From watching the way he adores my mom, I knew what kind of man I wanted to marry, and I found him.

Girls Camp
My dad has been to even more than I have.
(P.S. This was some fun first aid certification).

He’s also a spiritual giant. He isn’t the kind of guy that will boast about the callings he’s had or brag about his understanding of the gospel, but he has one of the firmest testimonies I have ever heard. Through the years I have received countless blessings from him. I’ve always known that I could rely on my dad being worthy and prepared to exercise the priesthood when I was in need whether that be for AP tests, sickness, heartbreak, or clarity. I asked my dad for a blessing the morning of my wedding. It was a tender and precious moment, especially knowing that my dad was going to be handing me over to Tyler in just a few short hours. My dad was always protective of me, and when he told me that he was happy for me and approved my decision, I felt so validated.

Another thing I really respect about my dad is that he is unashamed of displays of emotion. I have probably seen my dad cry just as many times as I’ve seen my mom. He even cried at my junior prom while my mom just smiled. It’s no wonder I have leaky eyes! Despite his emotional nature, he always swore he wouldn’t cry at my wedding, and he’d do cartwheels instead. He did cry at my wedding, but he also did a cartwheel. :) Thanks for all the lessons, Dad. I love you infinity and beyond. I’ll always be your Littlefoot.

Fulfilling his promise

P.S. When I picture my nuclear family,
the one I grew up with, this is how I see it.
 These are my dearest friends.

Also, thanks Dad. Making you cry with my simple tribute via picture caption on Facebook reminded me that I need to write, if only to keep making you cry. :)