the weak link

"Every chain has got a weak link." I have a little problem with the chains: chain letters, chain gifts, chain projects, chain e-mail. If you put me in a chain (unless it's a conga line), please trust that I will not do my part, even if I profess good intentions, even if the small type at the bottom of the page promises 10 years of horrible luck or painful death for breaking the chain. 

Ten days ago, David came home from work with a large zip-lock bag full of goo and a typed page of instructions. The dreaded Amish Friendship Bread* comes around again. Now, I love bread, all things Amish, and especially friendship. But the three things together? No thanks. You have to "mush the bag" for 5 days, add some ingredients on the 6th day, mush the bag for a few more days and then add a bunch more ingredients and bake it. For your work (pretty easy, actually) you get two loaves of sweet coffee-cake-like bread. The kids love it, which tells you about how healthy it might be.

One problem is the icky bag of goop sitting on the counter for two weeks, a creepy-looking bubbling plastic pillow of slime that longs to be mushed and burped. Also, I am not in love with the pressure to perform these activities just because your dear friend, whom you like so very, very much and really do wish to please, gave you this "gift". And then, for your pleasure, at the end of it all  you get to make copies of the instructions and create 4 MORE BAGS of mush that you can pass along to other unsuspecting innocents.

How lucky I am to have these enthusiastic children. They expand my horizons, encourage me to relax my rigid standards, nudge my reluctance over to acceptance and maybe even a tinch of enjoyment. Because, of course, the kids greet the bag of gunk pleasantly each morning. They love mushing and burping the glop. They adore adding the extra ingredients and keeping track of the "bread days" on the calendar. And when the bread comes out of the oven, they gobble it with great passion, proclaiming it the best ever. 

So friends, beware: if you see me approaching with a big crazy smile and giant zip-lock bags of goo in my fists, and you do not forsee bread making in your near future, RUN! 

*disclaimer: To those of you readers who, in years past, have gifted me with the bread mix in question--and you know who you are--I hope you will read this entry with a forgiving heart and gentle humor.  P.S. If you would like a bag of mix, give me a call, I have plenty just now!