Heartbroken.

I don’t even know where to start. Ever have one of those moments during which you watch with horror as slow motion renders you helpless? Your hands freeze as your eyes flitter. Your brain screams do something but your body is too stunned. This afternoon I crammed the van with three eager children and took a long overdue trip to the ice cream shop. (seven consecutive days of torrential rain makes for few ice cream dates) Two dishes of dirt and one nutty parfait later, we piled back into the van to slurp and enjoy.

Then it happened.

As I casually plopped the Papoose into his car seat in preparation to share with him my nutty parfait, my right foot awkwardly bumped the tall cup of parfait that I had carelessly placed on the floor. I felt of wave of knowing alarm rush through me as I looked down in time to see my beautiful parfait tipping over and spilling its rich fudgy contents onto the floor of my van. I eyeballed the soft-serve massacre and momentarily considered scooping the fudge shrouded nuts back into the dish. It’s still good! Three second rule! Pause, the ice cream blob was soaking into the floor of my van. Yeah, we don’t want to go there. I salvaged what I could and cried a little.

I sat in disbelief for a minute, listening to the two older kids slurping their dishes of fudgy, gummy wormy, creamy goodness. I almost wanted to snatch them from their greedy little hands and run away and hide. Instead I resigned myself to the inch of cream, nuts, and fudge that remained in the bottom of my cup.

I have yet to clean up the fudge-nut soup in which my van carpets are currently marinating.

Oh Nutty Parfait! I hardly new ye!