Mia pulled down the flour canister. It was heavier than she expected.
Her fingers came away white. She sneezed — poof! — a tiny cloud of flour.
She cracked the egg — crack! — but shell pieces fell right into the bowl. Her lips pressed into a straight line.
The egg slid off the counter and splatted on the floor. Mia grabbed a dishcloth and scrubbed at the mess.
Mia measured the flour. Whoosh! A gust of wind blew the bowl right off the table.
Flour coated her nose and the cat. Mia blinked through the white cloud and started over.
The oven dinged. Mia pulled out a tray of lopsided cookies that looked like lumpy moons.
She put one hand on her hip and stared. The front door clicked open.
Grandma stood in the doorway, flour on her cheek. 'Did you make these?'
Grandma took a big bite. Crunch! Her eyes went wide. She didn't say a word.
She pointed at the cookie, nodded, then pulled the girl into a hug. It smelled like sugar and flour.
The girl grinned. The cookies were imperfect. But they were hers.