(Try saying THAT three times fast.)
I found a recipe for Pumpkin brownies that I’ve wanted to try for a long time, so when I got back from this afternoon’s Enrichment Committee meeting and everyone was asleep, I thought it would be the perfect time to make them for tonight’s dinner at my parents’ house.
Of course, the minute I got out the mixing bowl, Anthony woke up and wanted to help. (He’s almost three. I think it goes without saying that his “help” is not so helpful…) Maybe because it was just the two of us, or maybe because he was still in that sweet, sleepy state of consciousness, he was really cute and eager to help in a way that was actually conducive to cooking. He helped me dump in the ingredients, most of which made it into the bowl. He cracked eggs, and I only had to pick out two shells. He even helped me spread the batter into the pan, and stayed far back from the oven door when it was time to cook them.
(I wish he were always this helpful. And obedient.)
Once the brownies were in the oven, he demanded to lick one of the beaters. (For all you foodies who shudder at this thought because there were raw eggs in it, might I suggest you skip this paragraph? We’ll catch you on the next one.) I remember cooking with my mom, and that was always our favorite part of the experience. I won’t even try to count the number of times we dunked the beaters back into the batter to “reload”. No one cared about double-dipping then, or about salmonella. (Okay, probably someone would have cared about the double-dipping, had they KNOWN about it. If either of my brothers read my blog, they would both be dry-heaving right now. CLEARLY what they didn’t know didn’t hurt them, but try explaining that to them…)
The pumpkin brownies are cooking (they smell delicious!), the beaters have been licked clean, and with a few more passes with a wet rag, I should have most of the batter off of Anthony’s cheeks.
I can’t think of a better way to have spent my afternoon.