Bakers and Warlocks.

I've entered a new phase of life.  I am now the mother of independant bakers!  Having no idea how enjoyable it could be to enjoy the fruits of others' labors within the walls of my own home, I am eagerly embracing the roll of . . . mooch.

Today it was brownies from one boy and oatmeal cookies from another.

This could present some problems if it continues on a consistent basis.  The problem being my will power.  The only thing going for me is that I'm that much farther from the bowl.  The licking privileges are claimed.  It would be a fight, one in which I'm not willing to engage.  Mother vs. Child.  Certainly the odds are in my favor.  But, alas, it wouldn't be fair.

I'll settle for the baked version. 

(Totally cutting a rug, this one.  I had no idea he had those kind of moves . . . in an apron.)

As part of our Twelve Days of Christmas adventure, each night we secretly drop off Christmas stories and a new reason why we love them, to two widows who live nearby.  I'm admitting this because I'm sure they don't read my blog.  While getting everything organized at home for the big "drop off," Lincoln brings me two pictures he's drawn for these sweet ladies and says,

"These two are for the warlocks."

Hah!  Warlocks?!  It was the cutest thing I'd heard that day.  I took that boy in my arms and hugged him tight, all the while my mind was playing with the images of widows and warlocks.  Sweet, little, elderly ladies and evil, scary, conjuring wizards.  That's quite the comparison.  Quite a contradiction, really.  I love my Lincoln.  He keeps my life full.