Making bread with teens

Monday morning: flour, salt, sugar, oil and a jar of yeast were lined up on the counter waiting for the teen-age girls from church who wanted to learn how to make bread. Making bread headed my list of things to do after I heard one too many whines, “I don’t have anything to do.”
10:40. Eight teen girls lined the counter, I scrambled to find eight bowls, eight wooden spoons and eight bread pans as I realized, “I don’t have enough fo your each to have your own set of measuring utensils. You’ll have to share.”
10:45 All I said was, “The best bread takes a lot of mixing and kneading. You have to love your bread.” The kitchen developed a giggling girlish echo, “Love your bread.”
10:50 “OK, now that the yeast is in the water, it needs five or 10 minutes to begin to grow.” They stred silently at their bowls of yeast-muddied water. “Time to see the best bedroom in the house,” my daughter announced. They followed her down the hall.
11:00 “Time to make bread,” I called them back. Sharing measuring spoons and cups, they added warm milk, sugar, salt, oil and flour.
I reached for flour and knocked a bowl of warm yeasty water down the front of my guest. I grabbed a towel for the floor, “I guess you have to start over.”
Flour dust settled on the counter, the dining room table and floor. Impatient girls realized they could also use two one-half cups or three one-third cups for measuring out flour.
11:15 Sticky bread dough glued fingers together as they struggled to knead the bread into smooth, elastic balls. One girl, perched on a counter stool, tackled her dough vigorously, fell to the floor, laughed, stood up and loved her bread some more.
11:40 All the bread was anointed with oil and put down to rest for an hour under damp towels. A pair of teenagers mixed up yeast-based pizza dough. Four or five chipped vegetables and meat for personalizing two large pizzas. The rest cut up melons to eat while the pizzas cooked. A few slices of watermelon and cantaloupe slithered off the plate to wash the floor. The dough quietly doubled in size.
Monday noon. I was enjoying pizza when a passing teen’s energy knocked my drink to the floor to rinse off the melon juice. Only punching the puffy dough down to size interrupted the shatter over eating freshly made pizza.
12:45. “Flatten, tuck and roll the bread into a loaf.” The rolling pin from my grandmother’s kitchen flattened a few more mounds of bread dough. The loaves were anointed with oil and laid to rest in bread pans.
1:30. Surprise! Our oven only holds six loaves of bread. Two waited in the refrigerator.
2:00 Six loaves out. Two loaves in. The warm loaves were brushed with butter and many hands tackled the cleaning up.
2:40. The last loaf of bread was sacked and taken home.
2:45 I collapsed on the couch. My daughter volunteered to finish cleaning the kitchen. I had not heard one while all day about being bored. Mission accomplished.