Some of my fondest childhood memories revolve around baking with my mom. Birthdays, holidays, scout bake sales, my mom always baked and I was there in my “Mom’s Little Helper” apron ready to get my hands dirty. I can’t say for sure, but I believe in the beginning I helped because that meant I got first dibs on the brownie covered beaters (I had to get there before my brothers). But I then realized there is more to helping than making a mess and eating raw batter. Some of my mom’s early lessons included “do not turn the mixer on high in a bowl of flour” or “don’t crack eggs directly into the bowl or we will be fishing out eggshell for the next 20 minutes.” At this point it wasn’t really about the baking, but about making memories (and a mess) with my mom.