The make it better muffins.

What matters is that the evening ended like this: kicking, hitting, face-pushing, screaming, crying. Over and over again.

When Madeleine finally fell asleep, curled into her blankets, face finally lax and sweet, I brushed her hair from her eyes and left a light kiss on her forehead. All I could think was: I need to bake something.

I wanted to bake something sweet and delicious, something vaguely healthy, and something that the girls could eat for breakfast in the morning. In the face of a trying, awful evening, I thought: This is something I can do. I can make the best muffins ever and nourish my girls with them. They'll be the make it better muffins.

I found a fluffy walnut apple muffin recipe and got to work.

Digging my hands into the crisper in the refrigerator I found three apples: two red, one green. I grabbed the peeler and sloughed the skin from the apples in small, bright strips until I held three bared orbs of fruit. I chopped the fruit into small pieces.

Sugar and butter and vanilla extract together in a big yellow bowl. I creamed them together until the mixture transformed from three separate ingredients into a grainy-smooth mix. I added two brown eggs until the mixture was thick and smooth, mixed into a yellow pudding.

In a separate bowl, I mixed the dry ingredients and mixed those into the wet batter. Folded in chopped apples and walnuts.

I made the crumble topping, abandoning the butter knife suggestion and mixing it with my hands until I felt the soft, smooth crumbs sifting through my fingers. Such a lovely texture.

Into the thoroughly buttered muffin pan: the apple walnut batter, crumb topping sprinkled on top. Baked.

Then comes the watching phase, monitoring how the tops brown, inserting a toothpick when you think the muffins are done to see if it comes out clean. And it does.

The house is warm, fragrant.
I offer Wayland a muffin with a glass of milk.
I eat one myself. It is delicious.

How soothing, to make comfort food in every sense of the word. Following instructions, completely involved in the process of making food to feed your family. Watching separate ingredients come together into something beautiful and sweet. The meditative quality of measuring and stirring and mixing and folding. Of immersing your hands in the crumbs. Checking for done-ness. If only life felt as easy it does here, carefully tending the recipe and being rewarded for it at the end.

I hope that the girls will enjoy these muffins; I hope they will sense the loveliness in the effort - of making something from nothing, even after the screaming and kicking and crying from the night before. I hope their day feels just a little sweeter for it.