One of my little men takes after his momma’s heart. More specifically and better stated: my sweet tooth. :)
He’s our guy who walks in from school, pauses at the back door, takes in a big breath and says, “Ahhhh. What’s that wonderful smell?” When it comes to food, he either loves it or hates it. When he loves it, I guarantee that the cook will feel as though the lottery has been won. When he hates it? You’ll feel like you’ve run over someone’s dog.
An aside: no one in this family is dramatic.
Or a liar.
We’ve made our kitchen into a delightfully scrubbable one. One in which a person might feel free to take risks. Therefore, when he asks if he can make something? I say YES.
He knows where all of his go-to ingredients live, and I’ve made sure to keep those things at reachable heights for him. Mixer? Got it. Baking stuff? Knows it. Cookbooks? Gathers them up.
The very first thing taught to all of my boys is this: you must properly lick the beaters. If they didn’t do it correctly or have left tasty morsels behind, I scold them ruthlessly and shame them into trying again.
The grasshopper is moving swiftly into master status.
Sadly, my post must end here abruptly.
No after pictures because we ate them all. Yay blonde brownies!!!