Early last summer, my daughter and a friend spilled blue food coloring on a rug, crusted the sink with a mortar of flour and water, fled to swim-team practice without cleaning the kitchen, and convinced me to invest yet another $50 in their summer cake business because, they argued, "it teaches us entrepreneurship."

And that was just one day in the life of their nascent cake-baking-and-decorating company, which is one manifestation of their membership in a cult that worships gum paste, themed pastry, and the bakers and decorators on the Food Network's popular Ace of Cakes show.

Since the August delivery of the girls' last cake of 2008, a whimsical baseball with a face on it, I've been dropping hints such as: "Knitting is an exciting vacation hobby!" and "Babysitting can be very lucrative."

But now, with the advent of another summer, about $75 worth of mail-ordered fondant has arrived at my doorstep. There is talk of (me) getting business cards for their enterprise, which they have dubbed "Sweet Summers."

And I have been "asked," (after they announced it as fact in e-mails to a dozen other 13-year-old girls), if it is OK for them to hold a preseason Food Channel-style cake-decorating contest to kick off "Sweet Summers' " three-month takeover of my kitchen.

I am allowing this company to exist- again - even though my ovens, whisks, granite counters, and vanilla beans are among my most beloved possessions and reside in the part of the house that I consider sacred territory.

I'll support it with my own stimulus package of flour, sugar, and my kitchen, even though it is not among the nation's businesses that are "too big to fail."

There are many reasons to allow my newly teen daughter and her friend to participate in the fundamentals of a near-religious pursuit that seems to be sweeping America.

It's true that the girls are absorbing some realities of the business world - for example, one client never paid for her cake. And, even though they aren't truly footing every bill - utilities, for one small example among many - they are developing their creativity and learning to cooperate. They're discovering that following through on commitments has rewards, among them feeling good about themselves.

I'm also learning to let go.

I have a bit of a controlling nature in the kitchen, so it was at first difficult for me to leave the girls alone to do their work. I had to nearly lock myself in my home office when they first began rattling cake pans and breaking eggs.

But by the end of the second week, I'd enter the kitchen to behold a surprisingly professional cake. Eventually they created, for instance, one in preppy pink-and-green polka dots; another with red, white, and blue swirls for July 4; and a large one for the Dolphin swim team's graduating seniors - decorated with cookies shaped like swimsuits, each bearing the name of a departing swimmer.

It was a bittersweet revelation that they hadn't needed me.

Blessedly, the people she and her friend admire are pastry artists, who do not fall into the category of people mothers consider "scary."

Last month, the "Sweet Summers" girls clamored to attend a regional cake-decorating competition held at a nearby high school. For much of one morning they oohed, aahed, and photographed artful mounds of cake and icing. They asked questions of gentle men and women hawking fondant, stencils, and other tricks of the trade.

But the highlight occurred when, as we walked down one hallway, they recognized a pastry chef and cake artist they had seen in a Food Network Challenge cake competition (required viewing in our home).

They began to speculate whether any of the other cake-decorating aces they have come to admire from television were also in attendance.

Forget Hannah Montana star Miley Cyrus and the carousing of actress Lindsay Lohan. These girls are steeped in the characters and products shown on baking docu-soaps, which, let's face it, is comforting.

As Sweet Summers gears up for its 2009 activity, I find myself grateful for the impending months of disorder in my kitchen and subsidies that I'll be too weak to resist providing. I'm a lot happier battling with icing and fondant issues than with those related to sex, boys, illegal substances, smoking, or trashy teenage television shows.

My daughter will surely move on to other passions as she ages, but this summer I'll encourage the risky behavior of figuring out how to create and decorate a topsy-turvy, asymmetrical cake.