Home » Uncategorized » Nothing was Killed (so you could eat this ice cream cone)

Nothing was Killed (so you could eat this ice cream cone)

My youngest has turned around in her chair so that she can see me as I prepare my cup of coffee.  She was the last to finish supper, and as her good fortune would have it, she is the only one to have an ice cream cone for dessert.  Four kids.  One cone.  It is a puzzle for King Solomon to solve as to which one gets the cone.  Since all the others have now dispersed, she is the lucky winner of a sugar cone topped with Scotsburn Easter Hunt festive ice cream.

I was not contracted to write a commercial for Scotsburn, but I must say this delectable treat is filled with these tiny, chocolate Easter eggs that are just the cutest thing ever.  What an adorable idea.  And the colors- purple and yellow swirls.   Don’t get me started…just go buy some, already.  You’ll thank me later.

I am pouring an exorbitant amount of full cream into my coffee while she licks away at said cone. My coffee, yes, there is a method to the perfect cup.  Pour steaming hot liquid into a tall mug.  Add a heaping teaspoon of sugar. Lots of cream.  Lots. And there is my dessert.

“Mom,” she asks me as I stir, “How is ice cream made?”

I am distracted at the moment, thinking about other, more pressing concerns.  I look at the coffee cream container I am holding, and the sugar dish besides, and it jogs my memory.

“Cream,” I say, “sugar, ice, vanilla…”

“And milk?” she asks.

“Yes,” I continue.  “Ice cream comes from milk.”

“And milk comes from cows,” she confirms.

I am wondering at this line of questioning now, as she seems to be leading me somewhere.  I finish stirring my coffee, and take a sip.  Ah, the goodness of Dunkin Donuts own blend.  Nothing like a good cuppa java to see me into the evening.

“Yes, milk comes from cows,” I say, a bit puzzled by all this.  She licks the ice cream, and looks directly at me.

“So, you don’t have to kill anything to get it?

(stunned silence)

She wants me to confirm to her that there was nothing killed in the process of getting this ice cream from the cow to her cone.

Nothing has been killed in the literal sense, but let’s be serious.  I am now thinking about cows instead of ice cream brands, and suddenly my appetite, for all things creamy and full of saturated fat that come from animals that moo and chew their cud, is lost.

Pass me a Pepsi, and let’s call it a night.


3 thoughts on “Nothing was Killed (so you could eat this ice cream cone)

  1. Last week, there were ants at the back door when I shuffled my girls in from school. I gasped at the sight and wondered what my husband dropped on the way out to work that morning (surely, it wasn’t me!). I ran full speed to the basement to unearth the spray, grabbed a paper towel to “protect” my hand (no time to find rubber gloves), and sprayed like my life depended on it. My daughter, clutching the kitchen door and looking down at me whispered, “What are you doing, Mommy?” “Killing ants,” I said a little too quickly and way too thoughtlessly. “Aren’t they just looking for food?” “Yes, but they can’t do it in this house.” My mom came over from work Monday and headed straight for the kitchen. “No, Grandma!” My daughter screeched, “Mommy will kill you if you look for food in this house!” Needless to say, I had a lot of explaining to do (to both my Mom and my daughter). Kids have a way…

    • Don’t you love what kids say to their grandparents, that you secretly wish they would just keep under wraps? I was talking about my in-laws dog the other day. I am not a dog lover, by any stretch, but I humor my family with the three pets I currently own and am employed so as to support in their daily eating habits. Anyways, the other day I was talking about the very slobbery, drooly Black Lab that my in-laws own, and I was talking about him in less than loving ways. I happened to call him a beast as I was ranting to my husband. So, we went down to visit the in-laws later that night, and somehow we were all sitting around the kitchen, when at a very quiet moment, the little one pipes up, “My Mom thinks Reimo is a beast.”
      Thanks for that, sweetie…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s