You're favorite food is anything that has just come out of the food processor. The fresher, the better. The other day I made your favorite: pumpkin. And because I had too much going on at the time, I handed you a giant spoonful of pumpkin straight from the food processor. You had a ball, eating it, flinging it, smearing it, making an all out mess with it. By the end, you resembled the mess I had made in the kitchen with all the cooking and baking and pureeing. Dad came home to us looking like a tornado had come through, but with you at your happiest. Messes tend to bother your dad quite a bit more than me, but even he couldn't resist a smile.
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