Homemade Ice Cream

A couple of weeks ago, I posted about the homemade popsicles we made for the kids to have on ice cream day at school. This week, I finally got around to posting the recipe on Living The Life Fantastic. You can read it here.

It’s so simple and delicious. You don’t even need an ice cream maker, but frankly, I enjoy the process and the grinding sound of the ice cream maker; brings back memories of summers while growing up.

For the popsicles, we make the base (the cream and sugar) and add sliced strawberries, bananas or cherries and simply poured them into popsicle molds and froze them.

Let me know if you try them!

Enjoy!

The irony – oh, it does not elude me

Just yesterday, Beck wrote a post for my blog about kids and wrestling and blood. There was much crying and in the end a popsicle made it all better.

I read it with a nodding head, knowing that I too, would react in the same manner, but thinking, maybe, just maybe I could keep my cool. I also thought to myself how lucky I had been by being spared from much blood in my home.

Last night, I had the same sort of thing happen, right here in the House of Chaos.

Sometimes, I wonder what the Lord must see in me that makes Him feel that I need all.of.the.stretching. Because when stuff falls apart, if falls apart good and plenty.

As I write this, calm has settled over my home [even if just temporarily]. But just a brief time ago, it looked like the scene in Home Alone, when the family realizes they’ve overslept and frantic moving and running ensues.

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Recently, my two-year old [Seamus] has been testing to the nth degree. He has taken to some tantrum-type behavior. The sort of behavior that makes me want to pluck my eyelashes out, one-by-one. But along with it has come this sweet snuggly side. He’s always had that sweetness side, but as some of the naughtiness has increased, he seems to need the snuggles more. To make sure he doesn’t get thrown out with the trash, perhaps?

Tonight, the kids had popsicles after dinner. The two older kids went outside with their Dad and their popsicles, while Seamus stayed inside with me. I told him to stay seated at the kitchen table, while I nursed the baby.

The next thing I knew, there was screaming and crying from my bedroom.

I would love to say that I went in there and scooped him up and held him close and reassured him.

That is a lovely image, isn’t it?

The reality was this: I stomped back to the bedroom [my adult temper tantrum], mumbling about the popsicle! being back there!… and the carpet!… and the not! listening! and mumble mumble mumble

I grabbed him and carried him to the table and gently sat him in his seat. Meanwhile, I blathered on and on and on enlightened him about the delicacies of beige carpet and deep berry popsicle.

Finally, I looked at him closely and realized that the color around his mouth didn’t match the color of the popsicle. Different color.

Flashes of Beck’s post zipped before me.

There on him, was a huge gash across his mouth, right below his bottom lip. It looked as though his tooth had gone right through the lip.

I calmly and collectedly called “SEANNNNNNNNNN!!!!” for my husband. Initially, we thought we were going to have to take him to the ER for a stitch or two. But after cleaning him up and further examination, we realized that the tooth had not gone through the lip. {But something he fell on did slice the outside of the lip.}

He is sleeping peacefully now. And I am reminded, once again, that I have a tendency to overreact. And to let fear and anger get in the way of gentle mothering.

I can’t help but wonder if that is, in fact, what the Lord has been trying to teach me through the chaos.