Imagine you’ve spent your afternoon baking.
There’s a pie in the oven and two dozen perfectly shaped butter-horn sweet potato rolls on the counter puffing themselves up in anticipation as they await their turn in the oven.
Your younger children are at the table sharing a snack and you step upstairs to check on the progress of the room cleaning assigned to your older child.
The sound of laughter mingles with the smell of baking peach pie and they waft up the stairs together. You smile to yourself, happy that the two so enjoy one another’s company.
The timer sounds and you decend to retrieve the golden beauty from the oven.
As the room comes into view you notice something odd. There’s some kind of light peach-ish goo hanging from the boy’s extended finger as he swings it around.
Realization hits and you exclaim using the boy’s full name and rushing to snatch the mutilated dough lump from his hands. You’re only just in time to stop him feeding a sizable glob to his baby sister.
Three would-be rolls are missing from the pan with a fourth smeared hopelessly out of shape.
As you might imagine, the boy does not finish his dinner.

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