Is it true that a whole host of gaping errors and neglect can be pacified–even forgotten–by our men if we simply bake well?  According to Amelia Bedelia, the character in many children’s books, this is definitely true.  A.B., in Amelia Bedelia and the Baby, reads the “To Do” list left to her by the baby’s parents.  Instead of caring for the baby by giving her a bottle, lying her down for a nap, taking her out for some sunshine, and protecting her clothes from food by applying a bib, Amelia Bedelia, through a series of misunderstandings, either neglects to do these things, or does them herself without baby involvement!

I could site mistake after embarrassing mistake where Amelia Bedelia does nothing short of bringing the house down, and when the responsible party(s) returns home to see what progress has been made, they have devastation before their eyes.  In every case Amelia Bedelia is about to meet her doom and banishment, when suddenly a bite of her afternoon’s baked goody finds its way into the irate person’s mouth…

What happens then?!  All is forgiven, Amelia Bedelia is pronounced a wonder and a blessing, and the harrowing day full of messy experiences is cast into a postive light, A.B. is invited back the next time, and then everyone goes home.

As for my experiences with my husband at times when I have been a goob (refer to my personal glossary), and even with other men that happen to be around, you bake something, and you’re a hero!  Does something magic happen inside of us when they eat a home-baked delicacy?  Further, you take or send a pan of cinnamon rolls or what-have-you to work with your husband, and can you deny that the result is almost a pay-raise?  OK, you can blow the whistle on my exaggeration, but at least you have to admit that your husband’s achievements suddenly are more genius than they were, his office a new stop-off, and you find that you’re invited to the next colleague’s party?  Are we nourished–by sugar and butter and flour we combine in different ways and then bake in our oven, mind you–on a level we can only theorize about?

In life we must all find our own answers, but I believe that the hand that rocks the cradle is not only the one that rules the world, but the hand that spreads the batter, is also the hand that squelches the squealers.  I, for one, could use a power this amazingly mind-numbing, yet so easy to wield.