Sunday Spudnut came and went. And this is what is left.
And a giant pile of dishes. (That will sit on the counter until tomorrow).
I know why we love it so much.
And I also know why we do it only once a year.
But seeing everyone enjoying themselves over warm spudnuts makes everything worth it.
We couldn't have survived without help from Brandon's parents and my dad.
This little? party of ours seems to get better every year.
Although it's not about the numbers, it's fun to keep track of what we do each year.
This time, we had 95ish people come and cranked out 202 spudnuts
+ 65 apple cider spice doughnut holes (something new this year.)
We added tiki torches and orange lights outside since our yard is so dark.
And maybe someday we'll have it organized enough to get pictures during the actual event:
everyone crammed in our little basement apartment, or the line to get dibs on the next hot spudnut, or the children trying to sneak their way to the front of the line for another one, or how we use our laundry room to let all the spudnuts rise until they get fried because our kitchen is so tiny.
But for now, they will just be written memories.
Yet, it will still go down in history that it was another successful Spudnut Sunday
and that doing this makes us oh so happy.
I'm grateful my grandmother Helen started this tradition decades ago.
This is our traditional Spudnut-night family photo.
And now we will try and sleep off the spudnut coma.