Who knew vanilla bean could cause such a conflict?

My cell phone rang with the tune that I had set aside specifically for my husband.
"Hey Jeep."
"Hey yourself," said his handsome voice. I knew that wherever and whatever he was doing at that particular moment, he looked good. You could hear it in his voice.

"I was just wondering if there was anything that I could do right now, at this particular moment, that would bless you."
I told you he looked good, and after that question I was completely assured that the man would always be uber-attractive to me.

My mind raced: what could he do? what could he do?
He was already out tonight--which meant that as soon as I have the kids in bed I will have silence. He's already givien me the moon! Having complete silence is already a delicious gift.What could he possibly add to it?
I respond with my usual brilliance:

"I dunno. Surprise me."
"O.K."
Five minutes later, as I am trying to discern between the clean clothes and the dirty ones that are decorating my daughter's floor, I hear a knock on the window.
Vanilla bean frozen starbucks in hand, my love smiles at me.

sigh.

The man is good and looks good.

I take the Starbucks from him and he gets back to his evening. He needs some time to himself. We currently live in a one bedroom apartment. Our bedroom is in the living room, our daughter's occupy the advertised "one bedroom" part of our abode. So, space, quiet, and stillness is something we both find to be a precious commodity in our lives. Right now, my momentary sphere of bliss is in the consumption of a vanilla bean frozen drink.
My babies observe the state of reverie I enter as I take the first sip. They want to try some. Who can blame them?
Anne loves it and pronounces it to be divine. I concur.

Brie, my 19 month old, tries some and then immediately grabs for seconds.
I gingerly, yet firmly take the cup from her pudgy, outstretched hands.
"No, honey. This is Mommy's drink."
Well, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, even if the woman is 19 months old.
For the next ten minutes, I witness one of the most dramatic performances of our time. The pain, the agony, the torture of this little soul being deprived of yet another sip of the frozen vanilla bean drink!
Well, my resolve is as a rock.

No more little tastes.

No more little sips.

I put my little cup of heaven away from prying hands and a wailing mouth. I listen to Anne's commentary on My Little Pony's trip to the ice cream shop.
With the goods out of sight, I reach for my toddler and beckon her to be folded into my arms.
"NO," she pouts and runs into the field of undiscernable laundry.

Who knew vanilla bean could cause such a conflict?

Mother and daughter relations are tested over the mere flavour of good ol' vanilla bean.
In spite of the emotionally volcanic eruption from my youngest, I smile to myself.

The truth is I am still blessed. I have a handsome husband who spoils me rotten and I have two great kids who are no less dramatic than I.

And above all, afte I've put them to bed and finally solved the Laundry Code, I will have the purely blissful experience of savouring my vanilla bean drink in. complete. and. utter. silence.

Ahhhhhh.