This past Friday night was the ice cream social for Helena’s school and rather than spend three hours in an insufferably hot gymnasium just so she could slurp up a tiny cup of chocolate ice cream to the tune of $3.50, we spent 15 minutes and $4.00 at Cold Stone Creamery where she got to chow down on a huge scoop of banana white chocolate ice cream, otherwise known as I WOULD EAT MY OWN EYEBALLS WITH TOBASCO SAUCE IF I COULD HAVE THIS FOR DESSERT.
It’s amazing how much more enjoyment that $0.50 brought all of us, even though I didn’t get any ice cream because I was trying to be good in that I didn’t have any points left for the day and Nate didn’t get any either because he was being … well, Nate, in that he rarely eats dessert and as such, is an affront to women and humanity in general.
I’m going to leave you with the post I wrote last year about ice cream socials and then I’m going to run down to my freezer and inhale a Skinny Cow White Mint Truffle Bar.
Someone has to make up for Nate’s outrageous lack of sensitivity.
I scream, you scream, we all scream for JUST SHOOT ME
The other day, Nate and I turned up our thermostat to 103°, turned on Please Don’t Stop the Music loud enough to adequately shake the walls of our house, and barricaded ourselves in our dining room which, because of the appalling lack of furniture, allows the music to ricochet off the walls and slam into our craniums with the force of a shotgun blast to the head at close range. Then, while holding onto our winter coats and hats and gloves, as well as Helena’s winter coat and hat and gloves, all while trying to balance little bowls full of ice cubes melting at the rate of OOOH, GET IT! GET IT! GET IT! BEFORE IT DRIPS! we proceeded to take turns screaming in each other’s ears while shoving each other around and bumping into each other and spinning each other this way and that way and then back this way all over again and again and again.
We did this for about an hour or so before we congratulated each other with a high-five and a rousing rendition of GO TEAM GO. Then we gulped down a couple dozen Tylenol, grabbed Helena and ran out the door to her school’s 2009 Ice Cream Social.
Since I am no longer in the running for Mom of the Year, having been disqualified on January 2, I can honestly declare that I do not like ice cream socials. When it comes right down to it, I’d rather just go to Cold Stone with Helena and fork over the cash and gain five pounds in climate controlled comfort. It’s so much better than the loud, hot, sweaty, sticky encounter that is an ice cream social.
Don’t get me wrong … I usually enjoy a loud, hot, sweaty, sticky encounter every now and then but only when the reward is more than a measly little scoop of chocolate. If you catch my drift.
Hurry up, catch it! Catch it!
Damn, there it goes. Better luck next time.
Ice cream socials can vary from district to district but I think we can all agree that the basic recipe is the same.
And if you don’t agree, that’s OK. Now go stand in the corner and think about how your actions affect others.
HOW TO MAKE AN ICE CREAM SOCIAL
- 500 elementary school students between the ages of 5 and 10
- Siblings of all ages
- Friends for siblings to talk to so they don’t fight with those students to whom they are related
- 500 sets of parents who are wondering if the tax write offs are worth it
- 250 minivans
- A frozen tundra with limited parking for 100 cars
- Tiny little cups of ice cream at $3.50 a pop
- Bottles of water at $2 a pop
- A DJ with a strobe light fetish
- Lots of music with the base turned up to HOLY HELL, ARE THE NAVY BLUE ANGELS ON MY HEAD?
- Various games like The Poop Shoot that will have kids lining up again and again, ad nauseam, for the chance to win one mini cherry flavored Tootsie Roll
- Decidedly insufficient amount of mini cherry flavored Tootsie Rolls
- Consult the Farmer’s Almanac to ensure the event occurs on the coldest, most frigid night of winter.
- Thoroughly grease the parking lot with sleet and ice.
- Preheat the gymnasium to SAUNA.
- Dredge the students, siblings, friends and parents through the frozen tundra and allow them to thaw for approximately thirty seconds.
- Mix the students, siblings, friends and parents into the gymnasium. You’ll hear lots of groaning and whining and shouts of protest and maybe even some crying but no worries, the parents will get over themselves soon enough. Besides, all that brouhaha just adds a punch of spicy flavor. Yummmm!
Isn’t this fun? Go grab your apron, this might be a little messy from here on.
- Add the ice cream, DJ, music, games and candy into the gymnasium and thoroughly combine. Get in there and really smoosh it all together. This is not the time to be shy – God gave you muscles, use ’em! You need to ensure all the flavors are thoroughly blended together. Don’t be concerned if the parents fall silent as the chaos and mayhem derived from students and siblings and friends strung out on sugar will be more than adequate to maintain a consistency of OH MY GOD, JUST SHOOT ME NOW.
- If you see the parents drift into psychosis, shove a few Tootsie Rolls into their mouths followed by a few sips of water – they should come around. Continue kneading and rolling and smooshing for approximately twenty minutes, until you see the parents turn colors. You’re looking for the shade that falls just short of Second Wind.
Now comes the best part!
- Bake in the preheated gymnasium for another forty minutes. Turn up the heat to SWELTERING STEAMBATH. Watch it carefully. Use a thermometer and check the internal temperature at ten minute intervals – you’re looking for an optimal temperature reading of IS IT OVER? AM I DEAD? PLEASE LET ME BE DEAD.
- Take a whiff. If it smells like feet, you’re almost there!
- Maintain optimal temperature for at least ten minutes.
- Ice cream social is done when 75% of the parents have lapsed into irreversible comas. If you’re unsure, poke a parent in the eye with a spork. If she doesn’t respond, you’re good to go!
- Serves 500.