FanStory.com - I Wanna Help!by Begin Again

"Whatcha doing, Mommy?

Not wanting to be distracted from her measurements, she didn't even turn to look at the little boy but answered, "I'm making cakes for the bake sale."

Four-year-old Mikey stood on his tiptoes, trying to see what his Mommy was mixing. "Can I help?" He thought it looked like fun.

"I'm really busy, Mikey. Why don't you play with your trucks instead?"

"They're in time out." He sighed, hoping to show how sad he was. "Daddy said I was making too much noise."

It worked, of course.

Mikey's mother wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and kissed her little boy's head. "Okay, get your stool, and you can help me finish this one."

He hurried to get the stool and returned with his dog, Patches, close behind — leaving wet paw prints as he followed.

"Wash your hands."

"I did when I got my stool from the bathroom. See —" He held up his hands to prove it. "I washed Patches' hands, too."

The dog's paws were dripping with water and soap.

Shaking her head, she called for reinforcements. "Johnny, please bring an old towel and wipe off Patches' paws?" Meanwhile, she went to the kitchen sink and got a clean cloth and soap for Mikey's hands.

His face twisted into a scowl. "I'm clean. I already washed them."

"Let's just give them a once over, okay?" She quickly wiped the little boy's hands, and he climbed onto his stool, eager to start.

He grabbed the milk jug and squealed, "I'll add the milk." He almost tipped it into the bowl, but his mother's hands quickly prevented a disaster.

"We have to measure it, Mikey."

"I knew that! Mr. Rogers did it when I was watching TV. He said it took a cup." Mikey watched as his mother filled the measuring cup, but it was only half full. "That's not enough, Mommy. Mr. Rogers said —"

"I know, but Mommy's cake is different from the one he was making." She handed Mikey the measuring cup. "Now pour it in, and be careful not to spill."

"Mr. Rogers said bakers are very careful." He poured in the milk and smiled. "I'm a baker because I didn't spill."

"Well, you are learning. It takes time to become a baker."

She handed him the melted butter, which he added as his tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth. Finally, it was time for his favorite part — stirring. He clutched the spoon and swirled it around the bowl. Batter splattered everywhere.

"Good job, buddy," his mother said, laughing softly as she wiped the counter. "Now it has to bake." She slid the pan into the oven, and the boy had already vanished when she turned around.

A few minutes later, the sound of giggling reached her ears. Curious, she wiped her hands on her apron and followed the noise. The laughter grew louder as she approached the bathroom.

Her breath caught as she stepped inside.

Patches sat in the middle of the floor, her black fur dusted in baby powder. Around her, the little boy knelt, vigorously mixing shampoo, cream rinse, lotion, and powder in the dog's dish. A grin lit up his face as he stirred the concoction.

"Patches wanted a cake too!" he said, his eyes gleaming as he looked up at her, so proud.

The mother gasped, one hand flying to her mouth, trying to suppress a laugh. "Oh, my goodness, sweetie!"

The boy's innocent smile only widened. Patches wagged her tail, powder billowing into the surrounding air. "I'm a baker, and Patches is learning."

She shook her head. "I see! Our next lesson will be giving Patches a bath when my cake is done."

"Oh, goodie! I can't wait!" He squeezed his pal's neck, and she thumped her tail against the floor, sending more powder into the air.