Doughnut Day and Lost Brain Cells

Yesterday was our annual doughnut making day. It wasn't Fausnaught Day, but we always enjoy one winter day of making doughnuts each year.



This year we made more doughnuts than ever. We never did get a count, maybe because some were consumed before they cooled.



We used my mom's potato doughnut recipe. This year we made six batches, consuming a 25 lb bag of flour and an untold amount of sugar. This wasn't a day to count calories!



But, oh, are they tasty!



And bring smiles to the littlest helpers.



My mom sewed aprons for all the womenfolk of the family at Christmas with directions that we all bring them to doughnut day. Surprisingly, none of us forgot.



But don't get the idea that I never forget anything.

I arrived home with our van loaded with tired children and Tupperware filled with fresh doughnuts. I handed each child something to carry to the house when I remembered...the chicken. I had a case of chicken ordered at a local butcher shop that I was to pick up on the way home.

There was nothing to do but herd the children back into their car seats and backtrack to the butcher shop. There I reached for my purse and found it missing. A thorough search of the van...and still no purse. Then I remembered - the four year old, given the responsibility of carrying my purse to the house, had done his duty.

Back in the van again, for another trip home, this time to pick up my purse. By now, I was very weary and only wanted to get home and stay there. And I had no one to blame for this ridiculous afternoon but myself.

I forced myself to find a way to redeem the wasted time. I've been trying to teach the children that they are responsible for their reaction to unpleasant circumstances. We now discussed our choice between frustration or acceptance. It took all my will power to choke back the complaints and instead join the children in singing.

A quick stop at the house for the purse, another trip to the butcher shop (this road was becoming far too familiar) and finally we arrive. That can't be a "closed" sign in the window! It is. I had forgotten that they close early on Mondays.

By now, I'm ready to bang on the door and force someone to give me my chicken. There is advantage to supporting home businesses.  An elderly lady comes to my assistance, hears my sob story, and graciously ushers me to the back room. Walmart would never have been so kind. But then, neither would Walmart close at 3:30 on a Monday!

Soon a man is loading my chicken in my van. I even have a fresh doughnut handy to express my thanks. I travel the road home, for the sixth, and thankfully, final time. If any neighbors are watching my frantic trips back and forth, they must wonder if I've lost my mind.

Maybe I have. Wonder where I left it?

Would a doughnut restore lost brain cells?