I’m not a baker. In fact, I’m not much of a cooker either.
Which is why I have been waiting to attempt any kind of “kitchen experience” with Max. Of course, I let him stir things when I cook, or sprinkle cheese on a taco now and again. And he watches me take lots of things out of the microwave.
Now that he’s two, and no longer entertained with baby toys like blocks and puzzles and cars and well…pretty much everything that lives in his playroom, I figured that we should learn some mad cooking skills.
So we made muffins.
First you have to put the muffin cups in the muffin pans. This is easier if you’re not wearing pants. Yes Betty Crocker, note to self.
And then we mix. Rather, Max mixes, and gets muffin crap all over the counter. Then Mommy tries to take the mixer thing (a beater? what the hell is that?) and Max screams. So Mommy says “OK, Max gets three turns, and then Mommy gets three turns”. And we count out loud while Max stirs. “One, two, three! Yay! Now Mommy’s turn!” And Max screams. So he just keeps mixing. And raw egg and batter and oil lands all over the counter.
But he’s having fun! And this is keeping us busy for a whole 15 minutes! Isn’t that how you measure success with a two year old?
We watch the muffins rise in the oven. Which is good for 30 seconds at a time, over about 20 minutes. And then we eat them!
Note: We had our first “food fight” of toddlerhood with these muffins. As in, Mommy tried to peel the paper off so Max could eat the muffin, and he FLIPPED OUT. Started screaming “Nooooooooo!” because he wanted his muffin intact. He wanted to eat it with the paper ON, and would not touch it if it looked any different. And in about ten seconds I realized “OK…we have now arrived at a brand new destination and I do not have a roadmap or my Triple A card”. And I remembered the little boy that I babysat for many years ago who FLIPPED OUT when I sliced his hot dog down the middle to cook it (in the microwave of course). He started screaming “Nooooooo cut it!” and refused to eat it. And in the two minutes that I spent changing his sister’s diaper, he plucked the damn hotdog off the counter and HID it. To this day I have no idea where he put it. But I remember thinking “That little BRAT. It’s just a hotdog!”. And his mom was a VERY FAMOUS author who wrote all about how to raise well-behaved children. I thought I was waaay smarter than she was, because there was no way my future kid would ever act so ridiculous! Like someone said to me the other day….I WAS A MUCH BETTER PARENT BEFORE I HAD KIDS.