On Avoiding Bad Ice Cream

I have struggled with contentment my entire life. The first time discontent got me in a pickle was, up until now, undocumented. I am about to fix that.

The hubby says I probably shouldn't write about this.  As much as it gives me hives to admit it, the hubby is usually right.

But I can't help it. The stuff that shouldn't be said out loud is my favorite stuff to write about.  Besides, I have you to think about.  If you wanted to read an appropriate blog, you would not be sitting here now.

So this is for you. When I was three I remember my baby brother being fed in his high chair.  I watched intently from the ground below wondering what he was eating.  Judging by the creamy, chocolate-y liquid dripping down the chair leg, I knew it was ice cream.

"This is an outrage.  The injustices endured by a three-year old are sometimes more than one soul can bear," I reasoned aloud. Well, maybe not in those exact words.

My thoughts raced:

  • That is not fair!  He shouldn't be getting ice cream and I'm getting nothing! I always knew he was Mom's favorite.
  • SeriouslyMom? You think I am too good to lick ice cream right off a chair leg?!  I'm definitely not.
  • Hold up.  Why is it warm?  And not even a little sweet?
  • Why is it coming out of his...DIAPER!?

Perhaps no ice cream is better than bad ice cream that is actually feces.

Life Lesson: Figure out how to be happy with what you have.  You don't always want other people's "ice cream."