Every single Monday we make bread dough. The children never get tired of it, even the ones who have been here for years. They are happy to join me at the table as I beckon them with my floury hands, apron, and sing-songy voice “Vengan, ya, vengan ya, vamos a hacer pan, pan, pan.” Come now, come now. We are going to make bread, bread, bread. I may get an “un momento, por favor” or “not now, I want to finish playing transformers.” Or, “How about in three minutes, Profesora, Kathy?” But, they always come. Happily, eagerly Why? Is it the reassuring rhythm of the week that gives them comfort? They know what to expect when they walk in a little sleepy after the weekend. Their hands are ready to mix, stir, and knead while sharing what happened over the weekend. Or maybe, it just feels like home. Measuring, mixing, stirring and finally kneading is what happens in the kitchen, the heart of so many homes. So, why wouldn’t it be that this act of making bread makes us feel a bit more like a family and our classroom a home. Or, is it the thrill of making a big fat mess with flour and dough, and the tactile experience that a preschooler craves? Whatever the reason, it works! After 4 school years of this, I could do without sticky hands, dough clogging up the bathroom sinks, and flour sprinkled on the rug like a newly fallen snow over the crusty dough that didn’t get cleaned up last week. What I couldn’t do without is the heat of the oven on a cold winter’s day, the smell of warm bread and butter and the familial activity of sharing bread together which gives us the opportunity to get to know each other a little better.