I thought today would be a good day to share a ‘Day in the Life’ post with you. I decided to call myself Lady Ringl in the title because it sounds less teacher’ish than Mrs. Ringl. That, and I’ve been watching a lot of medieval movies and tv shows lately and when you say Lady in front of a woman’s name I think it sounds elegant and pretty.
The day I am sharing with you is this past Tuesday, September 20th.
My day started around 6am. Our days start with getting Sarah fed and then I usually bring her into our bed to wake up Stephen. She loves to sit next to him and laugh and play. It’s pretty much the best way to wake up, ever!
After Stephen got out the door Sarah and I went to the play room and started our day together. I put ‘Elf’ on the tv because I like to have ‘white noise’ in the house. Don’t know why, but it’s something I’ve always preferred. After we played for a little while we moved to the kitchen so I could have a late breakfast. I decided that we would try some bread making. It had been a while since I’d done any. While pregnant I baked all the time. My favorite was the sourdough bread I could expect to enjoy every 5 days with a starter I fed and kept in the fridge.
I was really excited at how accomplished the day was going to be. I got my glass jar out and we quickly whipped up the sourdough starter. After that I got out all the ingredients to make some homemade french bread. I had gone to Publix on Monday and their bakery makes me crave fresh bread every time I visit.
It wasn’t quite noon and we were on a roll. Sarah was down for a nap so I combined all the ingredients for 2 loafs of french bread. It took about an hour (20 minutes of which was watching and then re-watching a video on youtube on how to properly knead dough). Sarah woke up right about the time I had the bread sitting in a bowl so it could begin rising. It had been a really successful day. I hadn’t even had lunch yet and I had made a starter and learned how to knead dough. To top it all off, I also had chicken thawing and getting prepped for dinner.
Sarah was having a little bit of a fussy day, my guess is from teething, so she was a bit more needy than usual. Needy isn’t a bad thing of course, it just means she wanted to be held more than usual.
An hour and a half later I came to check on my bread so I could knead it again, and then roll it out and let it rise one more time before baking. Well, when I checked it it didn’t look like it had grown much. I figured my eyes were just wrong and got the bread ready and laid out on the baking sheet so it could rise 1 last time. Sarah and I went and played for a while and when I came back to turn on the oven I noticed the bread looked the same. I knew something wasn’t right. I questioned my yeast when I first started the recipe because it didn’t bubble the way I thought it should. I even did it twice just to be sure I did it correctly.
Out of curiosity (and a heavy dose of frustration) I went ahead and baked the bread anyway. After it finished baking the top looked nice and browned and made the house smell like fresh bread. I cut into the loaf and turns out only the crust cooked. The inside was still dough. Talk about aggravating. I spent my morning and afternoon getting this ready and the whole thing was a flop.
I did some checking and apparently my yeast had died. Did you know you are supposed to refrigerate the container after opening it? Yep, it even says so right on the top. That would have been helpful, if I’d read the top. Lesson learned: always read labels!
After realizing that the yeast had killed over I trashed the bread and then dumped my sourdough starter. Watching all that flour go to waste was such a bummer. Between the french bread and starter I had used over 8 cups of flour. It felt like I was throwing money down the drain. Actually I suppose I did, since that’s where the starter was dumped.
I figured I would just forget the failure and move on to dinner. I knew Stephen was gonna be happy to come home and find a home-cooked meal. I saw a recipe for chicken fried chicken breasts with gravy. Personally, I’m not a fried chicken kinda girl. I saw this recipe and thought it was worth a shot. I knew I’d be using olive oil for the ‘fried’ part, and I wasn’t drenching the chicken, just putting it in the skillet and flipping it. I got to work on dinner and was excited about how yummy it would taste. It was definitely an out of the ordinary meal for me to cook, especially since I was putting myself in the line of fire by making something that involved the possibility of popping oil (which is the reason I don’t make bacon!)
I followed the recipe and it smelled great. I even made the gravy correctly. After putting the food onto our plates I cut into the chicken because we were 1/2′ing it. That’s when I discovered that apparently it hadn’t cooked all the way through. The chicken was still raw in the center. Gross! I couldn’t believe it. I tried making bread and failed. Made a bread starter and failed. Now I made dinner and had failed at that too. This was the worst “productive” day I’d ever had. All I had actually done was accumulate a butt load of messy dishes.
To try and save the chicken I popped it in the microwave to let it finish cooking. I snacked on some potatoes and gravy and then went to put Sarah in bed for the night. A little while later I smelled something funny. The smell went from funny to horrible in a matter of seconds. I rushed into the kitchen and opened the microwave. As soon as I opened it a horrible smelling smoke filled the kitchen. I quickly turned on the exhaust fan, worried that the smoke alarm would go off and wake up Sarah. I did everything I could to get the smoke and smell out of the house. Stephen came into the kitchen and mentioned the smoke was burning his eyes. Ya, it was that bad.
After things calmed down I took the plate out of the microwave and saw the damage. I don’t know how it happened but that chicken was now majorly disfigured. It actually had a hole in the middle and some black ooze’ish stuff dripping to the side. I’d never seen anything like that before. To top it all off the microwave now looked like a chicken bomb had exploded inside it. It was around this time I was spent. I felt emotionally and domestically defeated. I added one more nasty dish to the sink and decided to call it a night and just go to bed.
That, ladies and gentlemen, was how I spent my Tuesday.