photo © 2009 eyeliam | more info (via: Wylio)They bounced across the courtyard to my picnic table, sitting in tight clumps on the bench, unaware of the large mixing bowls placed evenly around. As I got them settled, they peered inside the bowls at a little hill of flour.

The tow-headed boy next to me scrunched up his face and asked, “What are we making?”

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