Tag: #icecream

The Peppermint 5K

I find myself sharing lots of stories about ice cream.  Which is odd coming from someone who is lactose intolerant. Not only do I love it, but I grew up around ice cream.  My Grandfather had a dairy and made amazing ice cream treats. Ten cents a cone, can you believe it? For that price I’d eat myself sick! One of my favorite family traditions we have, is eating banana splits on New Year’s Day.  Sweet way to kick off the new year! (See what I did there lol) 

As a kid I swore that when I grew up, I’d eat ice cream every night and stay up super late watching all the Saved By The Bell I could stand.  Now, as we all know, there is no more Saved By The Bell. Kelly and Zach probably have like four kids by now and are trying to figure out how to get Screech to move out of their basement.  Also staying up super late is a new form of torture to me. I don’t eat ice cream every night, because… well I guess I really don’t know why.  Dang being an adult is lame, sorry twelve year old me! 

I’ve also found that people are passionate about what brand they eat.  Coming from Nebraska, it’s Blue Bunny all the way.  Down here in Texas, it’s scandalous to eat anything other than Blue Bell.  My husband will only eat Bryers.  Then there are the people who throw all caution to the wind and buy the giant no name buckets that you need an ice pick to get a good scoop. As for me, I’ve always had a love affair with Schwan’s ice cream.  Especially their peppermint stick.    

It’s the last day of school and start of Christmas break. I just got everyone in the house and as I’m negotiating snack time with the kids I look up and see it.  That beautiful bright yellow truck holding some of the most delicious treasures known to man. Such treasures as my beloved peppermint stick ice cream. “The Schwan Man! I’ll be right back!” My heart rate rose as I found myself running out the door.  Leaving my children to fend for themselves with no snack at this point, because we are still arguing that cookies are not a food group.  Even though I think they should be, but that’s neither here nor there. Let’s get back to the oblivious Schwan Man.  

I slam the door behind me, leap off the front step, jump over my deflated Santa, duck under my tree filled with Christmas ball ornaments, nearly trip over my border of Christmas lights and hit the sidewalk running.  And running. And running I mean this guy seriously won’t stop. I look down and see that I am still wearing my white socks tucked into my flip flops. Now cut me a break here, my feet were cold and I’m not ready to completely embrace winter.  I mean it’s December and I’m running after ice cream. And yes, I know that this is a giant fashion no no. I would totally make fun of me if I saw me too. My jeans are kindly getting loose and falling around my hips. Pretty sure I have a plumber bum right now too.  Anyways, as I am galloping down the sidewalk, looking like a deranged camel, flapping my arms in the wind, I start to lose hope. At this point I’m really far from home, my kids have probably started to eat each other by now and I look completely crazy. Then an angel in a silver SUV sees me.  She bursts out laughing and then realizes that I’m chasing the Schwan Man. She pulls the guy over for me, smiles, waves and drives off laughing. I finally made it up to his window and he smiles and rolls it down. “Hi..” I say breathlessly. “Do you have any peppermint stick ice cream?”  

“Why yes I do.” He said with a grin.  

“Great!” Then I pat my pockets. Shit. “Well I don’t have any money…”

I forgot to think that far ahead.  

The nice Schwan Man got my info and was going to stop by shortly.  As I triumphantly made my way back home I was pleased to find my kids still arguing in the kitchen about what snack to eat.  They seriously didn’t know I had left. Which confirms my theory they don’t listen to anything I say. However in this situation, it kind of works in my favor. Ice cream? What ice cream? It’s all mine. 

Ice Cream and Deadbolts

Ya’ll this afternoon was hot. Like you better inhale that Bomb Pop now before your face looks like a scary ass clown kind of hot. Luckily O was at camp this afternoon, so I just had M and C to cart around. It’s amazing how being one kid down feels like a mini vaca! Target was kind of a breeze.  I could’ve spent an entire day and salary just looking around, but I could tell I was on a very limited time frame with the girls and we still had to go pick up the dog at the groomers.  I love it when Georgia, our dog, gets groomed. One she smells way better and two she looks like a very cute shaved Ewok. When we got home from all our errands, the girls were begging to go outside and play in their ridiculously awesome playhouse.  Thanks again mom and dad. By this time of day it’s in the shade so I said go ahead. I needed to get some things ready for dinner anyway and it would be nice to do so without toddlers ridding on my legs like a couple of koalas. Although my calf muscle are looking tight lately.  

After a few minutes I realized that things were too quite. You know what I mean? Kind of like when all the birds stop chirping when a big storm is near.  So naturally I dropped everything and sprinted outside to see what they were doing. Well M decided that the house needed a little face lift or she thought she was the next Van Goh.  She colored the entire side of our brown house, including the door, with bright blue chalk. I have to admit for the time she had unsupervised she covered a lot of ground.

“Why did you color the house?” I asked.

“What?” she looked at me with giant innocent eyes and a bright blue hand. 

“Chalk stays on the ground only!” I said raising my voice and trying to keep my cool.

I told her to go into the house, which she was not pleased about at all. She started to melt down and asked for her binky, for like the billionth time and of course I said no, yet again. Side note, this is day 2 of no binky.  (Prayers and gin are welcomed.) She glared at me with those mischievous beautiful brown eyes and slammed the door. I drug the water hose out and sprayed the blue Smurf massacre off the house. C found all this quite amusing and cheered for me. When I was done I picked her up and smelled a very ripe diaper. Great it’s all over my arm. I go to walk into the house and run into the door, smack! It’s locked….

I knock on the door and loudly call for M, “Unlock the door please!”

So our back door is in a small hallway between our bedroom and the living room.  I can see most of each room. She comes strolling casually around the corner of the living room, smiles almost as if she’s surprised to see me and shakes her head no.

“Open. The. Door. Now.” I repeat sternly.

She considers my request and tries to unlock it. After a few failed attempts she successfully unlocks the bottom lock, but to my surprise she had somehow managed to lock the dead bolt above as well. Well Crap.  I finally gave up trying to point out and describe the dead bolt to her. Well mostly because she got tired and walked away from me. 

So I ran over to the next door neighbors house hoping they still had a key to our house. Not home.  Ran across the street to our other neighbors’ house.  Not home. Shit. No literally, C had gone again.  I was reaching desperation.  It was 102 degrees out, I’m barefoot and this diaper can’t hold much more. Third times a charm right? Luckily it was.  Our other neighbor was thankfully home and let us in to use her phone.  Thank goodness I knew my husband’s phone number. Ah voicemail. Well I expected that I guess.  I don’t pick up when I don’t know the number either.  Now I was just praying that he listens to the voicemail and doesn’t decided to go run errands after he picks up O. 

I thanked my neighbor and ran back over to the house.  Out of all my kids I knew M would be the least panicked about being alone.  And I was totally right.

I got back into the backyard with C and went up to the door.  I looked in and didn’t see or hear M anywhere.  So I knocked… and knocked again.  Then I see her.  She is sitting on the floor with a fist full of ice cream, in front of the door. A half-gallon bucket of mint chocolate chip ice cream is sitting securely between her legs.

“M!” I yelled. “Put that away now!” I like how I thought I had any control in this situation what so ever.  I’m cute like that. 

“No.” she retorted calmly.  Then she got up calmly with the ice cream and walked into my bedroom. Then back into my bathroom, turns and faces me with a chocolaty smile and oh so sticky hands and slams the French doors to the bathroom shut. 

I stand there for a moment full of rage and then I start laughing.  Well at least I know she is eating the ice cream on the tile now.  I embrace the moment.  I know M is safe, I mean there is at least half of that container left.  That will take her awhile.  I strip down C to nothing and wash her off with the hose.  She thinks this is all hilarious and wonderful.  My kind neighbor stops by with a cold bottle of water and encouragement. 

“This is a hard time in motherhood! You’re fine!” she said kindly.

Damn. She is right! So I sit myself down, crack open a nice cold water (in my head it was beer) and sat there spraying my naked baby with a hose until my husband came home.