Sick toddler insisted that the only thing that could possibly make her feel better would be for us to bake chocolate chip cookies.

Obstacle 1: No brown sugar. “Never mind!” I trilled, “we’ll substitute honey!”
Obstacle 2: The (brand new) flour had little bugs in it. “It’s fiiiiiine!” I enthused, “we’ll mix corn flour and oat bran together, that’ll do the trick!”

Eighteen little mounds of cookie mixture were painstakingly laid out on the baking tray by toddler hands. I put the tray in the oven, feeling very smug about my baking improvisation, and having a little daydream about entering some sort of toddler/mother reality TV cooking show where Amy and I would wear matching aprons and make it through all the elimination rounds.

Then this came out of the oven.

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I’m not sure what’s worse…the crestfallen/horrified look on Amy’s face, or the realisation that my dreams of meeting Manu from My Kitchen Rules will never eventuate. Ever.

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