“AUGHHHH” my daughter cried out from the kitchen.

“What’s the matter now?” I asked as I continue typing.

“Someone ate my blizzard! There used to be THIS much” as she pointed 1/2 way up the cup, “and now THIS much” she finished when she jabbed at the bottom of the cup with her finger.

With eyebrow raised, I give her a look. My daughter likes to exaggerate just a little bit. I was sure this time wasn’t any different.

“Mom – there’s only like 4 scoops left!” she pouted. Ok, to me, 4 scoops equals 1/4 of the cup – and I know she ate some of her blizzard just after lunch, so I’m really not too worried about this.

“Did you or did you not eat a few spoonfuls after lunch today?” I asked her.

“Ya, but …”

“Then I’m sure the only person who ate your blizzard was you and you didn’t notice how much you ate.” I answered. There, problem solved.


“Then go ask your sisters.” I sighed. I so do not want to deal with this. As long as no one ate MY blizzard, i don’t really care (nice mom that I am).

I watch her as she stomps through my living room and out the front door, and begin to count. Before I could get to ten, she flung the door back open, stomped her feet, kicked off her shoes and threw herself on the couch, complete with folded arms and a pout on her face.

“So …” I asked her.

“They said Dad ate it! It’s not fair! You NEVER let me get a blizzard and I wanted this to last! Why can’t dad get his own blizzard! AUGH”.

I couldn’t help myself. Between the look on my daughter’s face and knowing that my husband doesn’t eat blizzards, I just can’t help the giggle that escapes.

“Well, atleast he didn’t eat mine!” I said.

“But mom, your blizzard is empty too!”