It’s rich, sweet without being sickly so, fat-free, and delicious on everything from toast to fruit to oatmeal. I love it. I love it so much, in fact, that I texted my sister, who also enjoys finding good healthy snacks (especially now that she’s a mom), a picture of it to share in the delightfulness and wonder that is Pumpkin Butter.
Yummy and nutritious!
Too bad I don’t think I can ever eat it again.
Lately, my sister has taken to amusing herself on occasion by texting me “hilarious” photos of my 2-month old nephew’s dirty diapers. In my opinion this only shores up my long-held belief that it was not actually me who had the fecal fixation as a child.
I myself drew one (ONE!) picture of a horsey moving its bowels in kindergarten (what 5-year old wouldn’t want to document in crayon the first time she, on a trip to Benson’s Animal Farm, saw that particular act of nature?), and have borne the brunt of my family’s poo jokes ever since. It’s been a quarter of a century, and my dad still thrills in telling my boyfriend about “Sarah’s drawing of a horse with poop coming out its butt!”
Meanwhile, my sister is the one who broke into my diaper pail as a toddler and used it to draw on the walls of my nursery, along with several other poo-related incidents that I won’t even share here. And now with the texts.
But what on Earth does all of this have to do with my love for pumpkin butter?
Well, see below.
My pumpkin butter photo ended up on the same screen with her dirty diaper photo, and I am now forever traumatized. Stupid iPhone.