Now that's what you call MOM.

Have you ever tried baking from scratch? Hard as heck, huh?
Have you ever tried baking from scratch with a 4-year-old baker-enthusiast and a 6-month-old thrill-seeker? Pretty crazy ass hectic sh-t up in my kitchen.
Have you ever tried baking from scratch with a 4-year-old baker-enthusiast and a 6-month-old thrill-seeker BY HAND? Meaning with no KitchenAid mixer, hand held or machine?
Well it's a bloody insane, migraine-driven, stress building, sweat coming out of undiscovered body parts kind of experience. The best kind of experience only I could have with my two baking beasts.
It was more than challenging, but it was not impossible.

Belle has been asking me to bake cupcakes from the Princess Cookbook I got her for a while now. I've been telling her to wait since I didn't have free time or a free hand, and she patiently did. Then I realized I'm never going to have free time or a free hand so I said "To heck with it" (not out loud) and began clearing the tables and setting up the ingredients. So, needless to say it was quite the event. Blake would not let me put him down without a fuss so I had to carry the huge entertainment jumperoo thingamajiggy with one hand and the Big Boy himself in the other into the kitchen to watch us bake. (I gotta check my walls for scratches and possible paint peelings. Oopsie.) We begin.

Preheat oven. Start dumping flour and butter and mix like a mother f-cker. Crying. Mixing like a mother f-cker with baby in arms. Not happening. Belle mixing. Her hair falling in the batter. Headband and tying hair while carrying Big Boy. High chair with lots of toys and things to throw and bang along with a handful of MumMum's keep Blake busy for a while. 4 eggs. Belle's job. Need I say more? Mix. Hand. Remove fallen egg shells. Mix. Hand. Dropped MumMum. Tears.
Add vanilla and milk. Belle get the milk. Sous chef spills milk all over floor. Wipe. More tears. More MumMum. Keep mixing Belle. Keep it in the bowl. Oops. Wipe again. Squeak the toy. Just put that batter sh-t in the cupcake baking thing. Scoop, dump. Scoop, dump. Sous chef runs to hot oven. No. No. NO. Cupcakes are safely in the oven by Mom without Sous chef burns. Wash. Check Blake. Dry. Clear space and tidy and play with Blake for 12-15 minutes before starting buttercream icing while Sous chef licks spoon dry. Smells good. Smell burning. Only 5 minutes passed. What the hell? 12 Minutes. Cupcakes are out. Delicious. Bottoms are burned. That lying mother f-cking recipe. Start icing. Mix. Mix. Still mixing like a mother-fucker. 10 minutes. When is this going to turn into "cream"? More toys. Eat this MumMum. Mix. Mix. Mixing buttercream icing from scratch by hand is as tiring as a prostitute trying to stiffen an old man's pole. Mix. Mix. MIX GOD DAMMIT. DONE. Piping. Piping bag bursts. Buttercream all over. Sous chef excitedly dips hand on spilled icing. Sugar High. Big Boy wants in on the fun. Slapped on icing with Belle's hand while carrying Big Boy in the other. Breathe. Are we done? Yes. Yes we're done.
We f-cking did it. You hear me? WE DID IT!!!!

There you have it. One long paragraph equaled almost two hours of hectic bliss. I ate three cupcakes in a row as my reward. Belle ate the tops as hers. Blake had MumMum in his ears. Kitchen was a disastrous mess.
But that's what you call quality time. The "master bakers". While dramatic, Belle had fun. She laughed and kept telling me how we made such a good team. As I mixed my life away, I sang to Blake and he smiled and smiled. It was fun. Well worth every second. Well worth every popped blood vessel.
And this is why I'm here. For them. I am their mother. And mother will I be.
And mother will I be in an ass-kickingly way. Or a batter mixing one.
I'm tired.