Piece of Cake

My boys often help me bake.  Don't be alarmed if you've eaten baked goods from our home: they wash their hands really well first.  They help me follow directions, measure, and mix.  Today Josh made a cake, and they insisted on helping. 

B was banned from helping, as he may have the flu.  During the entire process, we had to hear his, "Aw, I want to help!"  G was elated that he was the only helper today.  B balked at the brown eggs we put in the cake.  He'd never seen brown eggs before.  What kind of parenting is that?  G began wisking as Josh and I consulted the box to see if a mixer was necessary. 

When we turned around, G was chewing.  When asked if he'd eaten any batter, he replied, "Mmmm!"

This cake will be just for our family.  I can't say that I'm disappointed. 

Then, ask Josh mixed, G burst into a fitful of giggles.  He pointed at the mixer.  Between giggles he spat out, "Mixer...farted!  That...mixer...farted!"  Ah, boys in the kitchen.