Wounded knees and baked bread
James somehow hurt his knee Saturday night. I don't know just what happened, but I thought I heard him stumble going up the stairs that evening. The next day, he was complaining about a hurting knee, and he hasn't walked on it since. He's just hopping all over the house on one foot. I'm sure it's just a muscle pull, because there's no bruising or even swelling, but you can't explain that to him. It's sort of funny to hear him saying "OWWWwwww!" in a surprised voice; he's not used to encountering something that can really stop or even inconvenience him.
I went out to the drugstore yesterday and got some liniment and joint-ache bandages. Now my hands smell of that awful eucalyptus, and he keeps demanding "Medicine!" but I think this is something that only time will heal. I've got him to at least stretch out his leg on a footstool under the desk when he's at the computer, and I think that's an improvement. Hopefully by tomorrow he'll try putting some weight on the foot.
He loves baguettes, and we'd run out by the weekend, so finally I couldn't stand him demanding "Bread!" all the time, so I decided to MAKE some bread. I got out the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, looked up the basic bread recipe and got started. It turns out it's not that hard to do after all. I've done it before, long ago, but in the last 20 years I used bread machines from time to time and just figured that this was the way to go from now on. But bread machines break, and I finally decided they take up too much space in our small kitchen, so I haven't made bread for many years.
I made a dozen buns and a loaf of white bread. My mom used to make buns, and I've always wanted to be able to do the same. Mine weren't quite as large, but I may be seeing the past through those kid-eyes that see everything as bigger and better. Maybe they weren't really that large. Mine tasted the same, though.