It was a Thursday at lunch time, and the end of our homeschooling week was looming tantalizingly close. I was pulling out some lunch options when Jake announced that he wanted to do something different for lunch that day. Suddenly I was trapped between my first instinct, which was to say, "What's wrong with eating last night's leftovers?" and a desire to be a nice, accommodating mom and listen to his ideas.
I cautiously asked what he had in mind. He wanted to make mini pizzas. I agreed as long as he made his own dough. I pulled out my most basic roll recipe for him and stayed nearby for basic consulting as he plunged right in.
I couldn't help thinking about just what it is that I am doing each day. Sometimes I may feel like I am just pushing through schoolwork or getting a few things clean or taking care of odds and ends that our family needs. But I'm not. Really I am building a few of tomorrow's adults--somebody's spouse, somebody's parent, somebody's grandparent. It is humbling.
Jake proofed his yeast and mixed the dough. I stayed out of the way while he rolled it out into four circles--one for him, one for Abby, one for Grace, and a fourth little cinnamon and sugar round. We sprinkled cheese and pepperoni and popped them into the oven.
The kids enjoyed their little feast. Jake felt good about his culinary accomplishment. And I was pretty proud of my 7-year-old for making bread with yeast mostly by himself. (I never reached such feats till I was in my 20s.) I gazed around my kitchen and sighed at the scenery. Of course, if I am going to responsibly raise somebody's husband, I ought to teach him how to clean up after himself.