I’m going to go on record and say something that might be very divisive. But I’ll say it anyway.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the way popsicles taste, and sometimes there’s nothing more refreshing on a hot summer day than a frozen juicy treat.
However, let’s just say that “recent events” have caused me to hate on popsicles.
Now that it’s almost summer, my kids can’t get enough popsicles. They’re constantly asking, “Can I have another popsicle, mom? PUH-LEEEZE?!? Mooooommmm! Pleeeeeeeease can I have another popsicle?”
Usually they follow it up with, “I promise we’ll eat it outside (or in the kitchen)! I promise we’ll throw away the stick and the wrapper!”
I am not a neat freak. I have what you would call a comfortable home. Six people live here, so I’m okay with a controlled amount of clutter and mess.
But I draw the line at popsicle stains on the carpet, and sticky popsicle footprints all over the hardwood floors. I hate the feeling of standing or walking on my floors and lifting up my foot, only to find that it’s half-stuck to the floor, courtesy of dried-up purple popsicle juice. Ugh.
The popsicle sticks and the clear plastic Fla-vor-ice wrappers make their way onto our lawn too, and Bill inevitably shreds them up with the blades of grass as he mows.
I have not complained about it until now. But today was the last straw. This afternoon, I was picking up the toys in our family room. We have beige carpets, but when I lifted up one particular toy, I noticed a large, circular orange stain in the middle of the family room.
What was on top of the stain? A wooden popsicle stick.
Apparently, one of my kids, (or our newest family member, It Wasn’t Me) got tired of eating the popsicle, laid it down on the carpet, and it melted. But the pile of toys surrounding it prevented me from seeing the stain until about three hours later, when it had completely dried up.
A dried up, coagulated, congealed, sticky, orange mess.
I was seeing red. Well, actually I was seeing orange, but get the joke?
Fortunately, I was able to go to my arsenal (yes, I actually have an arsenal) of stain-removal products and I cleaned up most of the stain. I swear I still see an orangey glow, but maybe I’m just kidding myself and my eyes are playing tricks on me.
I wish I could say I banned popsicles from my home, but fortunately for the sake of my kids, I’m not that mean.
After all, what kind of party pooper bans popsicles? What is summer without faces stained red from the juice of a popsicle? Or arms stained all the way to the elbow from the drips of a popsicle as a chubby little hand clutches it? Yep, popsicles and kids go together like summer and swimming.
Maybe I’m softening my stance a little bit as I write this. Maybe I’m not so much anti-popsicle, as I am anti-popsicle-in-the-house. How does that sound? A little nicer?
Gotta go. The sun is shining, the weather is warm, and the kids and I have to get to work on that box of Fla-vor-ice.
200 popsicles in the box?
What a great excuse to spend the day outside.