Making gingerbread

This afternoon, Mr Daddy took bub for a walk in the buggy and I had some one-on-one time with the little dude. He loves the Maisy video where Maisy makes gingerbread, and we’d recently acquired a gingerbread cutter from the mother in law. “Should we make gingerbread?!”, I ask. “Yeah! Yeah! Me gonna be Maisy and make dingeabed!”

We didn’t have any ginger so we used cinnamon, but it’s all just “spedcial powder” to him.

He was so into it! He dragged a chair to the bench, climbed up on it, ready and willing to help. Well, ready and willing to direct me as his assistant. He stirred up the sugar and egg yolk. He practically knows the video off by heart so he said “and we add da fouuuuwer, and we stir stir stir stir it all up and den we gonna roll it!” I love baking so I’m super chuffed at his interest. It’s quite lovely doing something with him that we both enjoy, the edging over of the toddler into a small child, where this whole world of activities opens up, things to genuinely do together. Even a month ago he would have just been throwing flour on the floor, and now he is putting his hands over mine on the rolling pin, concentrating hard. The gingerbread people were varying thicknesses, because he was eager to cut them out before the rolling had finished. There was rolling and re-rolling and scraping and “widgle widgle da cuddter make dem all nice and shapey”. He wiggled the cutter sooooo carefully, except when he decided to stamp it down on top of one that was already cut out, creating two-headed monsters. The gingerbread stuck to the bench so I got a fish slice out and the little dude said “me dgonna scoop em all up!” which caused several casualties.

Aimless time is so precious now, I don’t get much of that with the little dude anymore. Time to hang out with him, no need to worry about something else getting done. It didn’t matter if they came out all wrong and wonky, we could do it until he got bored, we could go at his pace.

He was so patient too, he got that the aim was to pick them up and transfer them to the baking sheet whole. When a bit broke off as he was lifting them with the fish slice, he said “dat one a yiddle bit boken”, and when I got a whole one transferred he said “yay! dat one not boken!”

We put the first tray in the oven with only four gingerbread folk on it, so that he could start to eat them by the time we finished making the rest. Later, he didn’t want his dinner, even though it was meatballs. Spoiling his appetite: the measure of some successful baking.

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