Grandkids’ activity brings loving moniker

“Can we make bread?” grandson Nicholas asked within minutes of our arriving at our daughter's house last week. I told him we could, but it was too late in the day to start it.

The kids had vacation Bible school every morning that week and I told them we needed to get started right after lunch. Then there wasn’t enough flour, so it would have to wait another day. Finally, we decided to try it on Thursday.

If the recipe was followed properly then the bread would come out of the oven around 6 p.m. Three of their cousins were also spending the week. The oldest chose to spend a couple of days with the other grandparents so that left five mini-chefs.

Soon cries of, “I wanna do it!” rang out. One got to dump the ingredients into the bowl, another stirred. I measured and managed to dump half a packet of yeast on the floor.

Once it all came together, the fun began. I portioned the dough into four pieces. This took awhile because they all had to be exactly to the bakers’ requests. One wanted a big piece, one wanted a small piece, and so on.

I put a handful of flour in front of each child and told them to spread it around. Then each received a glob of dough and they proceeded to do their definition of kneading. At first, the youngest, Kirsten, said hers was, “Yucky.” The addition of a little more flour took care of that problem.

The kids had been messing with the dough for awhile when I saw a child walk by the window. Oops, I forgot one. Maybe I should have counted heads before we started. He washed his hands and we divided Kirsten’s portion in half.

They were having a great time when my son-in-law popped his head in. Poor guy almost lost it. He asked why there was flour all over the chairs and floor. I told him that it had to be swept and mopped anyway so it didn’t matter that flour was everywhere. He blanched and wisely left. My hubby suggested to him that it was best to stay away until everybody was finished.

After they tired of kneading they left to wash their hands again and went outside.  When it was time to punch down the dough the child count had risen to seven. Every one of them got to sucker punch the dough. Youngest grandson, Nicholas, outdid himself and managed to knock the bowl out of my hands. Thankfully, only the bowl hit the floor, not the dough.

At the next rising they were to shape the final product. I tried explaining that the best option was a simple oblong loaf. We ended up with two hearts, a dinosaur, an unidentifiable snowman and what appeared to be a taco shell.

It was then that I discovered that the Bible school was having a presentation at the same time the bread was to finally come of of the oven. The recipe is flexible enough so that spending the night in the refrigerator wouldn't hurt it. It is resting comfortably on the counter while I type this.

Honestly, it doesn’t matter if the bread turns out or not. It is the process that counts. Nicholas will always remember me as the grandma who not only lets him make a mess, but one who encourages it.

We enjoyed the Bible school performance. Nicholas stood with his arms crossed much of the time, but he did sing along. Jacob was a little more lively than his brother, but not much. Emma was the only one of the three to do most of the moves while trying to get Nicholas to turn around and participate.

For the record, Nicholas wasn’t the only one who stood still during the dance moves. Some of the younger children did the same thing.

Later that evening, Nicholas was sitting beside me. He started stroking my arm. He said he liked how squishy I was. Then he said my arm felt like bread dough.

I’m guessing that I will be forever known as the bread dough grandma. Spending time with messy, loveable children who think I’m squishy is a wonderful way to spend a few summer days.