I wanted to make zucchini bread for you to enjoy when you came by this evening. It was supposed to take 10 minutes to assemble and then 50 minutes to bake. I started it two hours before you were supposed to arrive. And still, it wasn’t ready on time. I’d like to explain.
You see, the first thing I needed was the bowl that goes with my Kitchen-Aid mixer. I used it earlier when I made dinner, but I expected it to be washed and waiting for me when I went to make the zucchini bread. I looked in the drying rack and couldn’t find it. So I asked the child who was supposed to wash the bowl where it might be. Turns out the child who was supposed to wash the dishes had traded chores with the child who was supposed to sweep the floor, but the child who was supposed to sweep the floor THOUGHT he traded chores with the child who was supposed to load the dishwasher. So the floor was swept, the dishwasher was loaded, but a massive argument ensued about who should hand wash the last dishes— the child who was originally supposed to do it or the child who traded for that chore but THOUGHT he traded for the dishwasher chore? I mediated that dispute, the dishes eventually got washed and I thought I was ready to go.
I went to grab the parts for the food processor so I could shred the zucchini, but they weren’t where they normally are. That’s when I remembered I had used them already that evening to make mashed cauliflower because one of my kids hates mashed potatoes and is always asking if I’ll make mashed cauliflower instead so I did and it turns out he hates that too. And now all the food processor pieces were sitting dirty in the dishwasher, so I had to grab them out and wash them and by this point whatever child was responsible for hand washing dishes was long gone and no help to me.
So now the process of assembling ingredients that was supposed to take 10 minutes has already taken 25. But I can do this! I’ve left plenty of time to account for this kind of nonsense.
Now it’s time to put the ingredients in the bowl. Easy enough, except now the four-year-old has decided to “help” so there is now a small hill of flour on the kitchen counter that was supposed to end up in the bowl and I’m remeasuring things to try and account for the missing flour. While I’m handling that it appears she’s decided to lick whatever sugar dust ended up on the counter and I’m just really hoping that’s not the same spot on the counter where some egg juice landed. “Helpful” preschooler = 15 additional minutes added to the process.
I sent her outside to play so maybe I could finally get all the ingredients assembled. I got the wet things creamed, the dry things measured, sifted and put into the wet ingredients and now it’s time to add the zucchini. I send the zucchini into the food processor only to find that somehow I have created a pile of zucchini slices instead of shredded zucchini. Before I can try a second time, the six-year-old comes running in, begging me to come outside. I tell him I need to finish handling this zucchini situation, but he insists it’s urgent. “Dad needs you!” “Dad needs me? Are you sure Dad needs me?” “YES!” “Why would Dad need me outside?” “Ummmmm, I don’t know. Maybe it’s about a dog?” “A dog? What would Dad need me for about a dog?” “I don’t know! Just come QUICK!”
So, with flour on my shirt and zucchini juice on my hands, I run outside to figure out why my husband would urgently need me in the front yard to handle a dog problem. I see him standing suspiciously in the road and as I come past him I notice a leaf pile that didn’t exist an hour ago. The leaf pile giggles just a little. My girls jump out of the pile to scare me, so I pretend to be scared, my husband laughs and I run back into the house to try and get this bread finished. I try VERY HARD not to think about the leaves stuck in my daughter’s braids and what a mess it’s going to be to try and get those out later.
The zucchini finally ends up shredded, the bread gets mixed and goes into the oven. I spend the 50 minutes of baking time mediating arguments about who gets to lick which baking utensils and then finally the bread is done.
It’s delicious and it’s done, but it did end up taking me over two hours to complete what should have been a one hour task. I wanted it to be ready when you arrived, warm and delicious with butter on top. But that just wasn’t going to happen.
This is motherhood. Things that should be simple and quick and easy, rarely are. Even when we leave time for the problems we imagine will happen, new ones we could never have imagined pop up. Motherhood is a life interrupted. It’s never being quite able to stick to the schedule you planned on, never being able to get done the agenda items for the day, feeling frustrated when the zucchini bread isn’t ready when your guests show up.
But life is made up of these interrupted moments. The truth is, nobody really cares that much about my zucchini bread. But my kids know they are loved. They know I will stop what I’m doing to follow through on having them take care of their responsibilities. They know they can come “help” when they see me in the kitchen, even if it adds extra time to my tasks. They know I will change my normal routine and make the mashed cauliflower every once in a while just to see if they like it. They know I will always come when Dad calls and I will be delighted to see my girls in a leaf pile (EVEN WHEN ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE HAIR ISSUES).
It’s a change of perspective to see the value in the interruptions, to know that none of that was wasted. I’m learning to let go of some of my big plans in order to enjoy the simplicity of the life in front of me. There will be days when a 60 minute recipe takes 60 minutes. These are not yet those days. And I’m learning to be okay with that.
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