Corey, you asked for photos of my rusks - your wish is my command! First a scenic pic of them packed in the tin ready to bake.
Then the finished rusks, golden and crisp after drying out in the oven for a good while.
I have a confession to make. The in-between photo of them, baked but still in the tin, before being seperated out, didn't make it through the selection process. They had five minutes too long in the oven, due to circumstances beyond my control (howling three year old) and were a rather darker shade of golden than intended (kind of a rich mahogany). So I need to bake another batch to get photos of the whole process! It gets a bit complicated trying to combine baking with photography, a dusting of flour doesn't really do anything for a Canon snappy snap and the extra time setting up a shot exhausts the meagre stock of patience left to a frazzled mother being 'helped' in the kitchen. My career as a food photographer is still a fair way into the future.
My quiet mornings have been put on hold too. Youngest waltzed into kindergarten with barely a backward glance when she started there in April. Since the kids were all sick last week she has developed acute seperation anxiety, even clingy when we're at home, so this week she has refused to stay at kindergarten without me. I'm hoping it will be only a short lived phase and am letting her come home again with me, after we say goodbye to her big sister. I could wrench her howling from my arms and I'm sure she'd be fine after a little while, but it doesn't feel right. She's not quite four, I'm at home anyway, so there is no great urgency to pushing her out of the nest. Besides she is stubborn as anything and the best way to get her to do something is to take away the pressure and feign indifference. I just have to try and work with her around me and she is pretty good at keeping herself entertained for most of the time. But I've had to postpone a birthday massage from a friend that I was going to indulge in tomorrow, sigh. I wouldn't have been very relaxed knowing my child was out there howling furiously at my desertion of her.