There is something ridiculously wonderful about a doughnut. Instead of worrying about all the sugar and fat and other not-so-wonderful ingredients packed inside those round delicacies, I simply just indulge and enjoy. Cake ones, yeast ones, chocolate iced ones, creme-filled ones…
We have a wonderful Martell family tradition of Sunday morning coffee and doughnuts. (The kids don’t drink coffee. Who do you think I am, Katie Holmes?) It’s one of my most favorite parts of the week. We all sit around the table and discuss our most favorite parts of the week. I get to hear about how Emily’s guitar lessons are coming along and Josh tries to explain to me that the word victuals is actually pronounced vittles and is also another word for toasted marshmallows (what?)
This morning we skipped Sunday ritual in exchange for brunch and a Settlers of Catan tournament with G’s sister and brother-in-law and their three kids. It was totally worth skipping doughnuts for. Our kids are so fortunate to have so many cousins. Three in Nashville. Five in Israel. Two in Montreal. And three in Toronto. We should see them more…but, you know, busy lives, busy jobs, busy kids, busy everything keeps brunches and Catan tournaments from happening as much as I’d like. Needless to say, our kids were a wee bit excited about it.
AND THEN THEY BROUGHT DOUGHNUTS.
It’s like they read my mind.
Just when I thought my day was not going to get any better than this, G’s cousin came over with her toddler and her brand-new wee triplets.
There were some very content girly muffins. And some very content girly muffin-holders. Or muffin, um, tins, if you will.
(some more on flickr, obviously.)
I like Sundays.