In keeping with the theme from last week ...
I like to bake. It's the only culinary task I have any prowess in, and Birdy often requests "Cupcakes, mama?" by opening up the cupboard with all the baking pans in it. (She's aware that they're the only pans I know how to use.)
But I hate baking, mainly because I don't ever taste the results and I'm challenged by the excess of cream cheese frosting in my house that I avoid, in a roundabout way, like Billy from Family Circus as he plods through the neighborhood, trailed by dotted lines. (I did not like Billy. Kid never took a direct flight in his life, I'd imagine.) But I do love baking with my daughter, and watching her eat her cupcakes with a fork never fails to make me smile.
Which is why I'm secretly thankful for the teeny cupcake pan. About one-third the size of regular cupcakes, the teeny cupcakes are just wee enough to provide a bite without packing a punch. Birdy can gobble one up without making me feel guilty, and if I cave and eat one, the blood sugar backlash is minimal.
Teeny cupcakes rule.
(And no, I haven't figured out how to fill the cupcake tins without having those weird, toasted connector stripes. I'm messy.)