20 Jun i scream
Item #2 on our summer to-do list: make ice cream.
You know, I could craft a poignant story here about how my kids helped me measure all the ingredients, how they waited patiently while the fancy ice cream maker churned the cream, sugar and milk into gooey bliss.
Maybe I’d even weave in some profound metaphor — something about life’s sweetness, simple pleasures, or the rewards of patience and teamwork. I’d inspire thousands of parents to drop what they’re doing and make ice cream with their children!
No. No. No. That’s not how things went. From the get-go, this shoulda-been simple project was total chaos. The kids fought over who would stir, they played tug-of-war with the measuring cups, leading to a volcano of sugar and milk cascading down my counters and cabinets. There were tears, complaints, and then they whined for 20 minutes that the machine didn’t make the ice cream fast enough. When it was finally ready and I served it up, B complained that it wasn’t chocolately enough, and as a consequence I took hers away.
The only part they DID enjoy was smashing up chocolate cookies to add in to the ice cream. Because how often does Mom say you can smash something to bits?
On the bright side, the hubs and I thoroughly enjoyed the ice cream…after the kids were in bed.