Buttermilk Bread

Today got off to a pretty bad start. I got up early(ish) - at 6.30 - intending to go for a run, only to discover that Cherie, on a safety-consciousness binge following the near-break-in, had hidden all the house keys, and I had no way of getting out. Frustrated, and with an increasing sense of cabin fever, I went back to bed until about half 8, feeling I'd somehow earnt the right to sleep in for a bit. 

When I emerged, Cherie was pretty apologetic (in what I've deduced is a pretty Australian way - i.e. laughing about it) and we went out to the 'Beach House' (the 'Snakes and Ladders'-esque playspace, previous scene of Harry's 3rd Birthday). Things improved from then on out really, the kids were entertained, largely by themselves, there were no accidents á la last time - it was actually a lot easier that going with Paul, and just Michael, weirdly enough. 

The only other major events of the day were killing a large number of ants who had lain eggs in the roof of the children's playhouse...shaking them out was a pretty grim discovery and *drumroll* making my own bread from buttermilk leftover from yesterday's butter-making lesson. It was pretty exciting (as domestic things go) and I learnt how to get bread to 'prove' (rise, basically) and managed to bake it to perfection just as I finished dressing Michael after his bath. The kitchen smelt amazing all evening, and buttermilk bread is sooo delicious (it has a similar consistency to crumpets) I ended up eating a big proportion of the loaf :S Both events made me feel pretty satisfied on the domestic skills front though, and tomorrow is another day, during which (now I know the location of the keys) I will hopefully be able to finally run by the river and blow off some steam. :D

Ciao for now!

A xx