When the familiar tune of the ice cream truck wafts in the air, my children are giddy. I get a pit in my stomach. The song sticks in my brain for hours, the prices are exorbitant, and the ice cream, if you dare to call it that, is chocked full of high fructose corn syrup and artificial colors. I hate that truck. There, I said it.
The other day at the grocery store, I had a brilliant flash of the obvious. I need to freeze my own frozen yogurt. Many of you are saying, "Julie, I've been doing that for years." Call me slow.
I bought a package like this and popped it in the freezer. Voilà. Frozen yogurt.
My kids love the packaging. And I do too. Cool and refreshing like ice cream, sweet enough to stave off a craving but the quantity isn't enough to ruin dinner. My kids feel like they have had ice cream. I feel like I'm letting them indulge in one of the treats of summer but not giving them junk. And these don't break the bank. Win-win.
Maybe my next business venture will be to drive my mini-van around the neighborhood rockin' out some New Kids on the Block and selling frozen yogurt for the sake of real food.
Julie
