It's a truth spelled out in lovingly stitched "X"s, and evidenced by the burn scars peppering my prematurely gnarled hands (it's true, the hands in my pics are not the hands of Baba Yaga herownself). And it's just as much an encouragement to my culinary-minded son (12 year old boys love this kind of stuff, obviously) as it is a reminder to me to run my hands under some cold water and soldier on.
Baking thug life!
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