Some things just go together.
Peanut butter and jelly.
Pen and paper.
Sonny and Cher.
Bailey's and coffee...
Carrie and baking - well, usually.
The other night, as I was whispering "sweet dreams" and "sleep tights" into the ears of my children, Wyatt asked if I could make homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast.
"Sure honey," I said as I kissed his forehead.
"Do you promise?" he asked.
"I promise." I assured him.
Promises are a big deal in our house. Of all our family "rules," keeping our promises ranks among the most important. Only to be overshadowed by showing respect for one another and not driving your mother crazy. I knew I had to follow through on this one.
I found my recipe, got out all the ingredients and prepared to execute the first step in the cinnamon roll making. It was then that I realized that I had only about 1 cup of flour. Apparently all that holiday baking had taken it's toll on the flour reserves around these parts and I hadn't noticed...because I was too busy eating cookies or something.
So, I jumped in the car and drove to the little 24 hour store nearby.
Without making too big a deal about the fact that they didn't carry flour (I mean, come on people, it's a STAPLE. Tell me I'm not the only mom in the world who started a project that needed four at 9 o'clock at night.), I called my husband and told him I would try the next nearest little market.
I really wanted to avoid hitting the large supermarket because even at this hour of night, I was sure to run into someone I knew and this was the day I decided to let my face go naked (aka: no make up).
Little mom and pop stores needed to be my salvation. They had to have flour (5-6 cups) on their shelves.
[See why I love living in the suburbs?]
Thankfully, the next store had what I was looking for. I'm sure I shocked the lone employee, interrupting her task of cleaning the deep frying equipment while jamming to 80's rocker band tunes blaring on the store sound system, but she was friendly enough and pointed me in the right direction.
Cinnamon rolls, here I come!
Which would've been a lot easier had I not unknowingly opened up a package of EXPIRED yeast.
About an hour later...
Why won't this dough rise?
I heated up the oven, increasing the temperature of the air around the dough. Still no luck. I found another package of yeast in the back of the cupboard and added it, along with the newly acquired (And expensive, do you know how much 5lbs of flour costs at a convenience store? A lot.) flour to the dough.
And waited another 40-50 minutes.
Finally! Success. The dough was ready to be made into rolls. I spread the cinnamon mixture and rolled and sliced, creating perfect little discs of sugary goodness in three pans. I smiled when I thought about how happy the kids would be when they woke up to the sight of these little babies and I was getting ready to put them in the oven when I realized...
They hadn't done the 2nd rising yet.
Damn these yeast recipes and all their complicated rising methods!
Covered up the rolls.
Waited another hour.
Watched old episode of The Real Housewives of the OC.
Checked if they'd doubled in bulk.
Baked for 20 minutes.
Went to bed.
Looked at the clock.
It was 3am.
The middle-schooler would be up at 6:30, ready for cinnamon rolls and I hadn't even made the frosting yet.
Vowed to never start baking this late at night again.
I hate keeping promises.