Cake for my baby

This weekend my neighbor had an outdoor party-- a festive affair with white tents, people milling about, and lots of yummy looking food.

My 4-year old spent most of the afternoon with his nose pressed against the windowpane-- yes, the one that looks over at the neighbor's house. (If he was older he'd run the risk of being arrested as a Peeping Tom.)

He was being so good, wanting to go to the party SO bad, and being the most graceful 4 year old I've ever seen about not being invited (it was a 60th wedding anniversary-- not exactly his demographic). When he asked if he could run over and say hi to the neighbor he adores, I told him yes. I admonished him to stay on our side of the lawn and wait until he saw her, then wave and say hi and come running right back.

AND HE DID IT.

The neighbor said he stood there as serious as a little sentinel, hands behind his back, until he saw her and waved her over.

My little guy came back with the biggest, most luscious piece of carrot cake I've ever seen.

We wolfed that baby down in about 15 seconds flat.

And then?

I didn't.

Oh yes, I did.

I sent him back for seconds.

Rehearsed with him to ask for a piece of cake for his baby sister.

If you'd tasted that cake, you'd have done the same thing!