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I have a confession to make.

I don’t really bake with my son. Granted, he hangs in the kitchen most nights while I cook and I round that up to “helping.” But I don’t really involved him like I should. Sure, he could get burned. Perhaps it will get really messy. Or maybe he’ll consume raw eggs in a batter. Gross.

I was holding back simply because I didn’t want to admit that I was afraid to live on the edge. In parenthood, the things that scare us are no longer thrill seeking adventures like sky diving or late night runs to Krispy Kreme. They are getting out a chocolate cake mix and letting your child do the mixing and pouring. In the name of his daddy’s birthday, we DID it.

And here is photographic proof that I am MOTHER OF THE YEAR.

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