Sometimes we get doughnuts before school. It’s a little thing I like to do to prove my worth as a Step mom, and what says “I love you” like a sugary, fatty treat? Nothing, that’s what.
It’s become known as “Duck Nut (insert day of the week here)”, because one groggy morning I entertained myself by pronouncing ‘doughnut’ as the sweet lord should have intended it be pronounced. Only I couldn’t stop saying it, thus it evolved into it’s current moniker.
All I have to do in my role is drive through Dunkin’ Donuts, pay for a few Boston Kremes, and hand them out to eager little grubby hands who scarf them down ecstatically. Sometimes particularly winning bites are held up to be admired, specifically those that include a good wad of chocolate, kreme, and donutty bliss. I always decide beforehand that I won’t get a donut, but then I cave and order an Apple Fritter. This is the most vile member of the doughnut family, because it has a dollop of “apple” goo in it’s center. Apparently I am cursed with some sort of Sisyphus doughnut disorder: I can’t seem to remember to not order this item and am therefore repeatedly punished by enduring it’s nasty taste. And, no, once you get a doughnut, you can’t just throw it out. You must eat the entire thing, because you realize that is doughnut quota for a while.
But, Woah, Nelly! That is not even the best part of this classic Wednesday morning, not by a long shot. The promise of good times began when I woke up and found this note on the counter: 
I had an inkling of what I might find when I opened the freezer door, but the reality was so much more beautiful. Please note the words printed on the freezer shelf, and nod your head in remembrance. You know you’ve done this, too.
mmmmm slushy.
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