Sunday was Nuffin Day at our house.
Some might pronounce the word for the little mounds of baked batter "muffins," but not Youngest. As far as she's concerned, we made nuffins.
It started with two blackened bananas hanging from a wire banana tree on my kitchen counter. They'd been hanging there all week. It was a standoff between us and the bananas. We weren't going to eat them but damn it, we'd paid good money for them and darned if we were going to throw them out.
"I'm not throwing those bananas out," I said firmly to Husband, keeping one eye on the offending fruit as I unloaded the dishwasher.
Husband did not look up from the Sunday paper. "Okay. I'm not going to eat them."
"I eat dem?" asked Youngest, who still licks the bottom of her shoes when we're not looking.
"No honey," I told her. "They're all black and icky."
Youngest thought for a moment. "Daddy eat dem?"
What would my mother do in this situation? Why, she would trick us into eating the black bananas by disguising them as edible food.
"We're going to make muffins!" I announced.
For the next few minutes while I gathered the ingredients, Youngest danced around the kitchen shouting, "Nuffins! Nuffins! I makin nuffins! I make dem! I eat dem!"
At a pause in her cavorting, Daddy sidled over and asked her, "Hey, what are we making?"
"Nuffin," she answered with conviction.
"What will they taste like?"
"What are they good for?"
"What do you love more than Daddy?"
"How much will your education cost us?"
"What are you going to amount to?"
Husband and I were amused. "What's more fun than teasing a baby?" he asked me.
"Nuffin," I said. "Except swatting you with a kitchen towel," which I reached for and caused him to flee.