Ever since I was 16 years old, I've made it a point to consume some type of ice cream/frozen yogurt every single day, seven days a week.
It may sound like an exaggeration, but it's not.
In fact, the only times I can recall when ice cream was not a part of my daily diet involved the stomach flu and childbirth.
So there you go.
Reece once told me he can't wait to get to heaven (foolish boy, thinking we'll be allowed in heaven) so he can find the magic calculator that's been keeping track of how much money I've spent on ice cream and diet dr. pepper and rub it in my face.
Which is ridiculous for multiple reasons -- one being that I highly doubt there's a giant magic calculator in heaven keeping track of my eating/spending habits.
Besides, I'm pretty sure Weight Watchers has the monopoly on such products.
This slightly quirky (and fattening) dietary habit was born in the wake of a big life change.
I was trying to lose weight but found myself struggling to find joy in celery and carrot sticks.
One night when I was laying in bed, listening to my stomach growl, I decided I wasn't going to deny myself of all my favorite indulgences.
I determined, right then and there, that I would allow myself one treat a day -- something to keep me from giving up altogether and stuffing my face with 12 large orders of french fries while watching the Leonardo DiCaprio version of Romeo and Juliet, cursing Claire Danes and her tiny waistline.
Thus, ice cream became the "chosen" indulgence.
And guess what?
I lost weight and kept it off, all while enjoying a bowl or cone once (sometimes twice) every 24-hour period.
And wouldn't you know it?
My kid appears to be following in my footsteps...
(the ice cream loving footsteps, not those of the weight loss variety -- please don't call child services)
Sure, it's cute and all.
But she tends to want my ice cream, and my ice cream alone.
And I just don't know if I'm cool with that.