This morning the little monkey’s and I teamed up to make some Monkey Bread for breakfast.
For me, the best part about Monkey Bread is the memories. A long, long time ago when I was young (ahem), I had a friend whose Mom would make Monkey Bread the morning after a slumber party. I LOVED waking up to that smell. In minutes I resembled Pavlov’s dog.
One year I asked my friend to write the recipe down for me. Ten moves and over 20 years later, I still have that little ole recipe card. I’ve copied it in other places, but I just can’t make myself throw out the original. It reminds me of Tiffany. Of sleepovers and birthday parties. Of giggling girls watching the Thriller video and listening to cassette tapes into the wee hours of the morning.
That’s the good stuff.
And it reminds me that the little things matter. I’m sure that when Tiffany’s mom drug herself out of bed those early Saturday mornings she never dreamed I’d be thinking of her while making Monkey Bread with my own kids one day. But I do.
Won’t it be fun someday to find out what little things have impacted our own children?
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