Thursday, October 18, 2012

Be-laxing.

I sent the girls out in the backyard the other afternoon so that I could locate my sanity  deep clean the house, and things became very silent outside.

Silence does not always equal good behavior.

So when I went outside to check on them, they were sitting in their chairs, staring out into the yard, holding their babies and wearing their shades and princess dresses.

When I asked them what they were doing, Chloe said, "belaxing."

Which I then translated into "relaxing."

I'm glad they think taking care of a baby is so relaxing.

They're about to find out otherwise.

Monday, October 15, 2012

The Hunt for Red October

Before I start, there are two things I need to confess.

1.) I am pregnant.

2.) I really love ice cream.

Or maybe my love of ice cream should be #1.

My pregnant addiction to ice cream was drawn to my attention for three reasons.

1.) My sister is scared to ever help herself to any of my ice cream ever again. A couple of weeks ago, she was over for dinner and after dinner, she went into the freezer to get ice cream. I was in the living room folding laundry and this dialogue began running through my crazy head. "I bet she's eating the peanut butter cup ice cream. There was only one helping left. I can hear her now. It's going to be all gone. I won't get any. And I will die. Or she'll die first and then I will die next. Wait. This is ridiculous. This is just ice cream. It doesn't matter. I don't want to be that person. The crazy person who runs people out of her life for eating her ice cream. I am going to kill her. The ice cream is gone. I just know it." She walked back into the living room and I asked as normally and sweetly as I possibly could, "is there any of that ice cream left?"

And this is the moment she looked a little scared. "There's plenty left. At the bottom." 

"Okay," I said, knowing that I just scared the pants off of her.

I had the little bit of ice cream that was left. Not quite a full serving. But it was okay. I could get some more the next day. Which brings me to...

2.) The next day I went to the Crest, getting groceries but with the ultimate goal of getting more peanut butter cup ice cream. Edy's peanut butter cup to be exact. They were out. Knowing that it was a fluke, I sent Jason later on that evening to Homeland. He came back with ice cream and I've never been more relieved. But it was Edy's caramel delight. When I saw what it was I said, "I hate caramel. You might as well take it back to the store. You shouldn't have gotten anything."

When I looked at his shocked face, I realized what a jerk I had been. "Well, they didn't have peanut butter cup. This was the closest thing I could find," he explained. I ashamedly apologized. But still, you shouldn't bring home another kind of ice cream to a crazy pregnant lady.

3.) After searching and searching and buying 8,000 different types of ice cream without finding anything that could possibly compete with Edy's peanut butter cup, I gave up. I didn't realize how many different types of ice cream I purchased until I overheard my mom and sister laughing about the amount of ice cream in the freezer.

I immediately began to take stock.

This is what I have currently in my freezer.

I am officially embarrassed. Officially ashamed. Officially crazy. And officially pregnant.

And while the title of this post is a title of a movie I've never seen. (I think it involves Soviets and a submarine and Sean Connery)  I'm pretty sure that when they were hunting for the Red October, they were hunting Edy's peanut butter ice cream.

It feels like a cold war to me.

And if you ever see this ice cream, will you kindly purchase a carton for me?
It will make my life so much better. But more importantly, it will make everyone else's lives a little better too. And they are clearly dealing with a very insane person at this point.

If you bring me a carton, I promise to share. But don't take too much. I might turn a little crazy on you too.

As a matter of fact, you should probably just drop it off and run the other way. If you haven't learned by now you should never, ever, ever mess with a pregnant lady's ice cream.

Ever.