Thursday, May 21, 2009

Tell Me My Kid Is Not The Only One

I don't know anyone that hasn't indulged in licking the beaters at one time or another. Growing up, licking the beaters was a reward for being patient while the batter was being mixed. And it kept my brother and I busy for a few minutes while the rest of the baking process commenced.

My oldest son and daughter loved licking the beaters too - especially if the batter was of the brownie variety. I have no idea where they get that odd trait from. A-hem.

They enjoyed it, that is, until Whirling Dervish came along. Problem: two beaters, three chickadees. Necessity is, indeed, the mother of Invention. Just ask Edison or Franklin. BTW, Thank you Edison and Franklin . . .

I soon solved the problem by dipping a serving spoon in the batter and giving it to my oldest. The first time he protested loudly - until he found out that mommy snuck a bit extra on the spoon as recompense for not getting a beater. Shhhhhh . . .. don't tell the two younger chickadees.

I reserved the rubber spatula for me. I ain't no dummy and I love a little pre-brownie batter as well as the next beater licker. (Try sayin that five times fast. I'll wait . . . Ain't easy, is it? Might even score you a call from Child Services . . .)

Anyway, The Affectionate One has taken this concept to an interesting level. She has decided that making her own sandwiches for lunch is the way to score licking the knife. Be it jelly or whathaveyou.

When I realized what she was doing, we had a mini lesson on why licking the knife (even if it is a butter knife) is so not a good idea. Besides, she has this thing for licking off the aforementioned condiment and wanting to put the utensil back into the jar searching for more. Mini lesson #2 quickly ensued.

Today, she discovered a way around the no-licking-the-knife rule by tearing a page out of mommy's tricks-of-the-trade book (You have one of those, right? Issued by the hospital when your chickadees were born?) She put her Miracle Whip laden knife in the sink and proceeded to the drawer for a serving spoon. The biggest, fatest one we own. And she dipped that gargantuan utensil right into the Miracle Whip jar. But, only once.

With the biggest grin I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing.


  1. This is fabulous on a number of levels. First, please overnight me a copy of the tricks of the trade book, seems my hospitals (all 3!) were fresh out. Moving right along, I too save the spatula for yours truly and have bribed my first with an extra helping for his silence. And finally, you can be the proudest mama on the block, because while your daughter may have an over affection for condiments, she wasn't raised by a double dipper! LOL :)

    Loved this!

    Blessings, C~

  2. What a great post. So funny and touching at the same time.

  3. How cute! That is a great memory maker.


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