Half Baked

This is my favorite ice cream.  It is sold in expensive pints in the freezer department of nearly every grocery store next to much more practical choices: affordable half gallons of other brands.

If you can't read the description printed below the flavor, allow me to help you.  Each pint reads:  Chocolate and Vanilla Ice Creams mixed with Fudge Brownies and Gobs of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.  Now I ask you, what isn't to love about a calorie fest of that variety?

I first fell for this ice cream on a late night chocolate run with my mom and I have never looked back.

When I lived in London, it was not unheard of for my friend Steph and I to occasionally brave the drunk-infested streets late at night in search of this ice cream.  The Blockbuster a few blocks away had a freezer chest stacked full of them.  We were lured there by the exceptional price of two pints for five pounds.  (Unfortunately, two pints for five pounds is not the same thing as two pints for five dollars, and even that wouldn't have been that amazing of a deal. . .)

I am thrifty, and my husband is even more so (some might venture to call him cheap).  We do not usually buy Ben and Jerry's ice cream; it is simply too expensive.   Our freezer is only graced with its presence for very important occasions, some happy and some sad.

For example, Chad might surprise me with a pint for my birthday.  Happy.

Or, Chad might surprise me with a pint after a PMS induced meltdown.  Sad.

After Kaden was born, my mother-in-law brought me a pint of Half Baked in the hospital.  It was heavenly.

Thursday, Chad brought me a pint of ice cream back with him after his grocery store run.

You see, I went back to work on Wednesday.

I pretty much cried for a week straight beforehand.  I would be playing with Kaden while I changed his diaper, and I would burst into tears and say, "I want to stay home with you all the time!" or I would watch him get this huge smile on his face, the tears would gush down my cheeks, and I would proclaim, "How can I ever leave you?!"

On Wednesday, I cried when I kissed Kaden goodbye.

I cried while I pulled out of the driveway.

I cried all the way down Cary Road.

And all the way to North Lenoir High School.

Once I made it to school, I was fine.  I taught three classes filled with wonderful students who missed me.  It felt good to be missed.  I saw all of my colleagues, people I love.  It was a good day.

Thursday was Veteran's Day.  Thank goodness, no school.

I cried Thursday night, not wanting to go back to work on Friday.

I cried Friday morning on my way to work.

I am crying now while I write this post, thinking I will have to go back on Monday.

The cycle continues . . .  

Chad has pointed out that Kaden is not going to prison.  He's not being kept from me for the rest of his life.  In fact, he is staying with his Gigi, who loves him and will spoil him rotten.

I know this.

I know he is in good hands.  I know that he is fine.  I know that he is happy.  I know all of this.

But it is still hard.