It's party time at my place again. The never-ending birthday celebration continues. This time, we have out-of-town family coming in. You know what that means - more cake!
My eight-year-old son asked if he could help make it. I let him crack the eggs and add the oil and water.
"Can I eat the flour?" he asked.
"No, Bubba. That would taste pretty awful."
"But I want to try it."
I turned around to get a spoon. Not even a second later, my son had flour all over the front of his shirt.
"Bubba," I said. "You ate the flour, didn't you?"
He gave me one of his guilty looks. "But it was so good, Mama! Can have some more?"
I shook my head. "No, Bubba. No more flour."
"What about in my lunch next week? Can you make me a flour sandwich?"
Yeah, right. (He sure is persistent, isn't he?)