MyThreeDaughters

I was away from Friday until Sunday, and wow, what a greeting when I got home. The baby was napping, but the two older girls came flying at me from back in the kitchen, yelling “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” and “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” Then, amid the excitement and chaos, something the three-year-old was saying rose above the clatter: “Where’re the donuts?! Where’re the donuts?! Where’re the donuts?!”
Oh, the donuts.
I had been up in Lancaster, Pa., and had been at an auction, run mostly by Amish people, and at one of the food stands they were selling the best cream-filled donuts I ever had. The best donuts I ever had, so I brought back half a dozen. Apparently, word of the donuts’ 330 mile drive back from Pennsylvania preceded them and me.
Once the donuts were presented, my wife tried saying we were saving them for tomorrow morning. But Boisterous Red, the kindergartener, was onto us:
“Don’t worry,” she told her sister, “they’re just teasing.”
And I guess we were…we’re softer than a couple of cream-filled donuts.