Thunderstorm pudding

Outside, it was storming.
A summer storm like I’d not seen before,
the darkness of night descended upon the usually-bright afternoon.
Getting home soaking wet from daycare pick-up brought the storm inside,
threatening and thundering.
Tantrums, go-to-your-rooms,
clashes and crashes.
Dinner took too long.
The fish was a disaster.
The red chard was perfect, although not exactly appreciated by young palettes.
We filled up on tender beans and tiny potatoes instead.
I had the audacity to win at our boardgame after dinner,
sending one sore loser to the penalty box.
In retaliation, he proceeded to cover the floor of his room with toys.
This resulted in room-cleaning being added to the usual bed-getting-ready routine.
Amidst the storming, I made bread pudding.
Bubbling along to the decibels,
settling in burbles and sighs during book-reading.
Once boy-bedtime was finally achieved,
never had a stale baguette, forlorn victim of half-eaten Saturday lunch, looked so glorious.
Just like the day,
this concoction of bread, milk, rhubarb, raspberries and sundry was warm, wet, sticky.
Both bitter and sweet.
Crusty around the edges.
Earthy and spicy and unexpectedly smooth at times.
Melt-in-your-mouth goodness,
with the occasional jarring crunch,
a blanket warming my inside, complete with crumbs.
Smelling like home,
tasting like love.

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