As the kids woke up this morning I was in laying on the couch. Mckenna took the last of the yogurt so Jilli, seeing we had some jam in the fridge asked if she could have a pbj for breakfast. I acquiesced.
As Jilli was getting things ready to make herself breakfast I hear her worried voice from the kitchen, "Mom, something is wrong with the bread." I start to laugh.
Last night I had gone to an enrichment meeting on how to make bread in one hour, from start to out of the oven. (It was very cool! I will do a post about this later. It's where I had the braided Nutella dessert) My mom had made some of her homemade bread to take down there. (Yes I live in the same ward as my mom.) Her loaf of bread was still untouched so she let me take it home with a little bit of jam that she had also brought to the meeting.
As most people know homemade bread is not sliced. Since we rarely have homemade bread in this house, it was something that Jillian did not.
Thus, what was wrong with the bread.
I explained to her that was homemade bread from Grandma and told her where the sliced bread was. Her world was back to normal and she contentedly began to make her pbj from bread that had nothing wrong with it.