The Artful Dodger

Call me Mother of the Year.

I have come to the conclusion that baking can be hazardous to my mental health.

Allow me to explain. On Saturday, I was busily baking for our church's fellowship hour and Peanut was doing his level best to "help". Sadly for me, his idea of helping involved helping himself to the goodies. This was discouraged, and he moved outside. Yesterday, I was baking again to thank his teacher and aids because, well, they deserve goodies. They just do. And it's Teacher Appreciation Week.

So Peanut came home from school to a house smelling delightfully of lemon bars. And knowing that Mommy had peanut butter cookies somewhere. And deciding he was hungry. Having been thwarted in his attempts for a fourth snack in under an hour, he was ready to take matters in his own hands.

As I was getting ready for our Big Wheels ride/power walking experience, I noticed that Peanut's mouth was moving. Actually, he was chewing.

You guessed it. The kid had figured out how to get into the cookies.

So after the ensuing cancel-bike-ride-and-time-out-for-temper-tantrum episode, I explain this to Boomer... who snarfs the remaining lemon bars when Peanut's back is turned. And thus gets to deal with Peanut's disappointment. Boomer was properly remorseful, and I now refer to him as Father of the Year.

So now I'm up to baking again to console both my guys: The Artful Dodger and the Artful Codger.

Call me Mother of the Year.