…And did I mention that half-gallon of ice cream is Blue Bell’s legendary Mocha Almond Fudge?
*photo credit - http://foodspotting.com
It all started this afternoon when one of my teenage sons, having just polished off his after-school snack(s), said, “Mom, I just remembered — we have ice cream in the freezer!”
At least he remembered on a full stomach so there is hope for me to get in a bowl before the others overhear and polish it off before I even get to it.
You see, Blue Bell’s Mocha Almond Fudge ice cream is a rotational and seasonal release (only March to May — *looking to heavens* Why?!) and also my favorite, along with a few other people, as you can see:
You get the idea — Blue Bell’s big, but most especially in the South.
When you find it at the store, you grab it and run like hell to the register. That extra two minutes could be the difference of whether you’re able to squeeze in another couple of gallons of the stuff before it leaves the freezer aisle for the rest of the year.
People are serious about their nocturnal ice cream ritual, you know. The brands change with the individual and region, but it is a national habit. Just put in the search term “nightly bowl of ice cream” on Google, and you get pages of people who enjoy it that often. It’s the most popular before-bed treat.
For many of us in the South, it’s only Blue Bell, though. It’s a reason to stay up a good hour after the kids go to bed, just to make sure they’re truly down for the night and not passing by to make sure Mom’s not eating a bowl of the stuff, acting like — yeah, right — they’re “just going to the bathroom real fast.” I know what you’re up to after 30 minutes tossing and turning, wondering if Mom — who knows no rules save the ones she breaks — is sneaking a heaping helping (while on Pinterest).
So here I sit in dry-mouthed morality, torturing myself with the thoughts of its crunchy almonds, rich coffee flavor, the thick ribbons of fudge to eat in peace. It’s quite late/er…early now, and the kids are asleep, but I have yet to crack open the freezer, in which I would find the coveted Blue Bell carton in its ethereal icy fog, resplendent in its perfection, all mine for the night.
All because I opened my big mouth and promised my kids, “No, we’ll start it together tomorrow.” Why did I commit to that?!
I think a bit and realize that if I were to (sheepishly) start without him, then there’s time to dodge my kid’s attempts to get into the freezer tomorrow morning for his waffles, if I just replace it far in back and run to the store for a fresh container before he comes home. I can leave out the dry cereal container on the counter to detract from a frozen breakfast in the morning and steer him away from the freezer. There’s still ample time — and this is a stretch, but if I have to, I will — to buy another half-gallon container tomorrow (God willing, it’s still stocked at the store), and replace it. And that would afford me ice cream for breakfast and lunch tomorrow, as well as tonight, before he goes looking for it — the replacement, the untouched container.
In the end, my willpower breaks like cheap thread, and I shamefully indulge in a very small portion while vacillating between ice cream-induced euphoria and self loathing. All the while, I’m wincing at deafening spoon hits (*ding!*) on the side of my bowl. The jingling dog collar comes running in to check out the midnight snack in the front room, and is equally loud, and I’m almost unable to enjoy myself for fear of being found out, even when I hit one of those heavenly fudge ribbons. Still, I manage to down it all — it was difficult, but I managed — and stealthily rinse my bowl and spoon to remove all evidence of my infraction.
So I started the half-gallon of Mocha Almond Fudge alone, succumbing to temptation despite my promise to my son. I never said I was a perfect parent. How to rectify…
This seems like a familiar situation because it is, and I know just what to do. I will make sure he gets an extra bowl to compensate. No, I will not buy another container to hide my sin. I will come clean, and we’ll discuss my transgression while he enjoys a much larger serving than mine was, while I watch after school today. (Dammit.) I know how this goes. I’ve been through this before. And I think he chuckles when he goes to bed, knowing to “trust” me with the new ice cream, because my broken promise ensures him a bigger bowl of the stuff later, as opposed to our starting the container together and sharing equal portions.
Wow, that kid is smart.
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