My mom baked a lot when we were growing up. I remember hanging around and getting under foot as she navigated the kitchen dumping in flour and eggs and sugar. Anxiously waiting for the spectacular moment that she would hand over the bowl. The next ten minutes were a blur of euphoria and sticky fingers. Licking the bowl is such a basic joy of childhood. But I, in all my paranoia, have debated to myself whether I would let Lily continue the tradition. You know? Salmonella and all that. I've gone back and forth in my mind about this, but in the end, as is so often the case when I have these great moral dilemmas, Lily decided it for me.
On Saturday, we decided it would be fun to make brownies together. We set Lily on a chair and let her dump in the pre-mesured ingredients. Then we gave her a large, wooden spoon and let her stir. Of course, she's just barely over a year, so she had some difficulty with this. But far be it from me to try and help her. Oh no! My little diva MUST do everything herself or she makes a big stink about it. So after some time, she stirred the ingredients together leaving a lovely bowl of enticing chocolate. Big mistake.
Now, as I said, she is just barely over one. I don't know why I thought she would be able to resist the temptation (more accurately, I don't think I had the forsight to even see what she would do next), but one moment she was mixing ingredients, and the next she had dove face-first into the bowl of chocolatey goodness. Awwww, the memories.
I call this last one Drunk On Chocolate...
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