I offered up the leftover skillet cookie cake* as an incentive for the kids eating their (non-preferred) dinner this evening.
Remembering the cookie cake was a little dry the previous night, I decided to add a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream to the top. I asked, “Would anyone else like their slice à la mode?”
No one answered so I got my own scoop, but left the ice cream scooper on the counter in case someone else wanted some.
Marc noticed my slice topped with ice cream and reconsidered.
“That’s why I left the scooper out,” I replied as I grabbed his plate. I removed the ice cream container from the freezer, scooped a spoonful on top of his cookie, and then put it back in the freezer. I brought Marc’s plate to the table.
A few minutes later, Ari noticed a “big marshmallow” atop Marc’s slice.
“That’s not a marshmallow,” I replied. “That’s vanilla ice cream.”
“You didn’t ask me if I wanted ice cream!” Ari responded indignantly.
“I asked everyone if they wanted their slices à la mode. You didn’t respond. I’m assuming it’s because you didn’t know that à la mode meant a slice of pie (or cake) with ice cream. Now you know. So, would you like your slice à la mode?”
“Yes!” Ari replied.
Out with the ice cream container. Another scoop of ice cream onto a third piece of cookie cake. Ice cream back in the freezer. Cookie cake plate back to the table.
Ari forked the ice cream and the cookie cake, but had a challenge getting both items onto the same forkful. After a few tries, I noticed Ari bring the slice up to his mouth and take a bite.
“It’s not a pizza!” I replied. “Use your fork, please.”
That’s when Ari did the unthinkable with his fork. He used it to spread the ice cream out across the slice as if it were cream cheese. Once it sank into every nook and cranny — which helped the dryness — he devoured it. Of course, this did nothing to help our kitchen floor, which was already overdue for a cleaning after Ari managed to get lots of pieces of cauliflower rice on the floor when he ate dinner.
Sometimes, as a parent, you have to know when you’ve been beaten. This was one of those times.
“Bon appetit,” I replied with my finest French accent. “Know that you’ll be dustbusting the floor once you’re finished eating dessert.”
Ari grinned, getting crumbs and chocolate everywhere. Thankfully, once we got him wiped up (Yes, it took two adults to clean him up!), he cleaned every last cookie crumb and piece of cauliflower off of the floor.