The smell is nearly intoxicating. Wafting from the kitchen like a homespun specter from a distant era. Fresh baked bread.
Two small boys literally begin to tremble as the butter begins its molten trek across the pockets of doughy heaven.
"Daddy", begins my eldest, "Why does it always taste better fresh?"
I give an off the cuff remark about the love being baked in - just so.
The barrage of "why" "what if's" and "how comes"gives me ample opportunity to hook em, set that hook and reel'em in.
And so it goes . Bread comes from flour which comes from wheat. Frozen bread follows that formula. My children will forever believe that frozen bread dough comes from Winter Wheat. Grown in snow . Harvested by Eskimoes. Flown by Reindeer. All for them, so that when the butter drips from their beautiful smiles, I can say to no one in particular... "GOTCHA".