Honestly. Whoever suggested to me that baking would be a “fun” activity to do with my two toddlers deserves to have the rock-hard, snot-infected products of said baking venture shoved up their arse.
Seriously? How is this fun? Half an hour of complete carnage as my kitchen is turned into a floury war zone, the kids fighting over who gets to stir/measure/lick, me losing my shit as an entire jar of cinnamon gets merrily chucked into the food mixer, and then the end product looks and tastes like utter crap. And then there’s about three hours’ worth of cleaning and washing up to do as an added bonus.
Yet somehow I end up agreeing to bake with my kids time and time again. A bit like childbirth, I forget how painful and messy it’s going to be. I guess the “promise” of cake at the end of it is, like a squishy newborn baby, just too tempting.