Home baked mud pies

My two year old makes some of the tastiest looking mud pies. Her soiled hands and clothes is a direct result of the effort she puts into creating those scrumptious tidbits. That mischievous smile, just after looking around several times before adding the secret ingredient determines her Daddies eagerness to sample those always moist mud pies.

Most of her prized cooking utensils are made up of an array of plastic utensils and cups and saucers. Her commitment to good cooking motivates her to cook until bed time, during story time and even after nightly-night time.

After blackmailing Daddies little girl with triple the amount of M and M's she reluctantly agreed to let her poor old Dad in on her mud pie secret, but in a last minute attempt to save face she had me pinky-swear, cross-my-heart and made me promise not to tell Teddy.

Silly me rubbed my palms together, I performed my skewed mad scientist laugh and even did a triple-back-to-front somersault in anticipation of the long awaited secret sauce that my little-miss-know-it-all adds to those delicious pies, but to my dismay, after gobbling up all the sweets, she ran off and jumped about on her sugar rush and then eventually, after a good thirty minutes, when she settled down, she couldn't remember that damn recipe.

I found a nifty spy cam at Car phone warehouse, and the salesman assured me that the zoom on the camera was so good that it could capture the facial features of a farting ant. After setting up and retiring for my afternoon tea, while little-known grabbed her back pack for play.