Sunday and Blueberry Muffins

This weekend I went on a little bit of a baking extravaganza. Well, more like a boxed baking adventure. Saturday C was busily writing 10 articles so thought in my awesome wifely-ness that I’d reward him with Snickerdoodles. It took me a little bag full of goodness and a few minutes and viola, we were munching on happy little cinnamon sugar cookies.  Sunday I brought out the big guns. I knew C used to get blueberry muffins every Sunday when  growing up and after finding out his love of the crumble topping Duncan Hines boxed mix, I new it was a go. 

So I let him sleep in (for once) and popped those bad boys in the oven. He emerged a little past 11 and looked around the kitchen confused, perhaps by the amazing smell, and then his eyes became little saucers and he actually clapped his hands in glee. Then he said, “This is even better than snickerdoodles!” And then proceeded to eat 5. He probably would have eaten all 12 if his pregnant wife wasn’t trying to get one or two on her plate. 

This prompted a conversation about the tradition of blueberry muffins every Sunday. I asked why they didn’t have anything else. And he simply replied, “We didn’t want anything else.” It was matter of fact, sweet, and to my fast paced, ever-changing self, amazing. I don’t think I have ever had the same breakfast two weeks in a row. My mom and I lived a sort of go with the flow lifestyle and the traditions we had were pretty loosely defined. But there was something slightly profound about kids, and maybe adults, being okay with the same. Not only that, but somewhere along the way it became a tradition. It’s almost a magical word, tradition. It bring about images of Christmas trees, happy children and three hour family dinners, where everyone actually gets along and likes each other.

As we’re starting our family, I want to have my kids look forward to something every week, or month, or year. I am finding myself thinking about possible traditions or thing we can bring from C’s larger family to our new little one.  But maybe that’s the fun of traditions, that they aren’t planned. They just happen enough times until no one remembers what you did before blueberry muffins on Sunday morning. 

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