The wee ones "helped" me make blueberry muffins the other day. I missed out on a pic of them "helping" pour in the ingredients and stir the batter, but I did get these pics of them watching the muffins baking through the oven window. They could hardly wait for them to be done.
This means two things: 1) I had a bigger mess to clean up in the kitchen than if I hadn't had any "help" and
2) Dear Son is finally feeling well enough to climb on a stool and care about muffins.
It's been so great to have him back to his old self that I didn't even care about the mess.
After getting over her incredulous-ness that I could make muffins sans boxed mix, Daughter couldn't stop exclaiming that her mommy makes the best muffins in the "universe." I couldn't figure out why she was so stuck on "muffin mix" as I've rarely ever used it. Then Dear Husband reminded me of "If You Give a Moose a Muffin." If you know the story, you know what I'm referring to. If you don't know what I'm talking about, read the book. It's cute and you won't regret it.
By the way, check out the cowlicks on the back of Dear Son's head. You may only be able to see one of them, but there are actually two of them--one on either side of his head, and they are permanent. Dear Husband says our son is beginning to look like Dagwood.