Flour Child

So, a lot of people have already heard this story, but it's worth putting up here with the pictures. I was on the phone with Shannon and Madeleine was running around as usual. At some point, I noticed I was hearing her in the kitching, and told Shannon I should let him go and see what the girl was up to. This is what I found:



Me: Oh my my my my. What are you doing?
Madeleine: I'm making!
Me: What are you making?
M: Mmmmm...a cake!
Me: A cake for who?
M: Daddy! Happy Birthday Daddy!

I bet there were six to ten cups of flour on the floor, on the rug, and on my daughter. It's a pain in the arse to clean up, because you make tiny mushroom clouds of flour no matter what you do, sweep or wipe. And if you use flour, it turns into library paste. I got the bulk of it cleaned up, and had to wash the rug twice because the first time the flour made little clay balls that stuck to the fibers. I'm still finding fine mists of flour around my kitchen in places I didn't think to clean initially. It's a good thing we're not neurotic about cleanliness, because we'd be hopsitalized by now due to our toddler's exploits.