My petit chef

Dear Aves,

If there ever were a doubt in your mind about how ridiculously much your Momma loves you, allow me to share this little anecdote.

This afternoon, your eyes lit up the way they do when an exciting idea pops into that little head of yours.

"Momma!" you gasped, "Since Gav is taking is nap now, can I bake some brownies for you & Daddy?!"

Of course I happily accommodated your excited request and retrieved the brownie mix & all necessary ingredients & tools for you.

As you tied your little pink polka-dot apron around your neck, you plainly told me,

"By the way Momma, I am four and a half now so I don't need ANY help with cracking eggs, okay?"

{you are very lucky that Daddy happened to be no the phone with me at this exact moment and went to bat for you with his very convincing argument of 'Just let her crack the eggs by herself, she's really good at it now!'   And so, I apprehensively agreed.}

And you certainly did crack those 2 necessary eggs, all by yourself, right into the bowl of brownie mix. And I watched, horrified wide-eyed, as at least 1/2 of each of the shells crumbled and slid into the bowls along with the eggs.   

Yum.

At this point, I decided to gracefully bow out of this brownie-making experience and  allow you the freedom to finish the task all by yourself...something I'd never done before.

You were so incredibly proud as I just sat & watched, allowing you to do every single part of the work on your own, and cheering you on every step of the way.  You added about 8 times as much water as was necessary, and 2/3 a cup of oil when the recipe only called for 1/4 cup. You mixed all of the batter up "really good," with no help from me.  (however, please note that a few minutes later when I helped you transfer the batter into the pan, at least 1/2 of the batter was still white, powdery, and unmixed.) You even  greased the pan by yourself-- spraying the cooking spray into one square inch of the pan and leaving the rest of the pan un-greased & naked.

I helped you pop the tray in the oven, and you set the timer. And fifty-two minutes later, when the timer buzzed, you handed me the oven mitts so that I could safely take them out. You weren't too thrilled to hear that we had to wait until after dinner to try them, but eventually you agreed.

Needless to say, after dinner tonight you were bursting at the seams to reveal and serve your brownies to Daddy and I. Your smile was huge and you were oozing with pride.

In the spirit of not crushing your culinary dreams, we each "excitedly" took a brownie square and took a bite. (crunch). And another bite. And another. (crunch, crunch, crunch-- OW!) Until we had devoured your delectable brownie creations, crunnnnnchy eggshells and all.

In conclusion, here I sit 4 hours later, STILL finding crunchy remnants of egg shell in my molars and uncooked brownie powder in my teeth. My stomach feels a little bit funky and I may be dying a slow salmonella death.

But on the upside, you successfully baked your first pan of brownies all by yourself,  and the look on your face as you watched Daddy & I excitedly devour them and tell you how fantastic they tasted, was worth every crunchy, painful, bacteria-filled bite   :-)