The Cutester: Four and a half


OK, I confess. I had just told her that if she stuck her fingers in the cake again (the main body of cake, not the slice on her plate) I WAS GOING TO CUT THEM OFF.

I forgot how literal four-year-olds are. I know, I know, she won’t understand that recurrent nightmare about a knife-wielding digit-severing maniac resembling her mother until her late forties and only after a lengthy and expensive bout of therapy… and I did immediately reassure her that I was being silly and give her a hug… but not before this picture was taken, because it’s so tragic, and so terribly funny.

It still makes me laugh. Possibly a sort of guilt-evading laugh of denial. What sort of parent am I anyway?

In other news, we made the cake from a recipe in the back of a Fifi Flowertot book – the plot was terrible, but this was the nicest chocolate cake I’ve ever made, and baking it was probably the highlight of the Cutester’s holiday so far. I’ll never know how much its delicious moistness is owed to her current streaming cold, but who cares? Cake anyone?