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.