It's the Simple Things.

People who know me may think I'm high-maintenance, but looks can be deceiving.

I get pleasure out of the simplest things, like ...

when my chips and salsa even out,

the giggly feeling I get when my body first settles in the bed at night,

just plain ol' sittin' outside,

cereal and milk (oreos and milk, too),

sipping my first cup of coffee in the morning, 

the warmness of the clothes when they first come out of the dryer,

getting into a warm vehicle after being in a cold restaurant or church,

putting pajamas on,  

the smell of Vick's Vaporub,

cuddling with my children right before they go to bed,

the circular crust of a chicken pot pie, 

carving our initials into the top of a chicken pot pie because that's what my mom used to do,

my DVR,

a nice, hot bath,

days off when I wear no make-up or even better stay in my pajamas all day

Now, make no mistake ... I like high heels, make-up, fancy restaurants, and spa treatments, too.

Hmmm ... sounds like an identity crisis. But, I'm definitely not high-maintenance. And don't argue with me about it.

A Little Help Here

The following post will reveal why I am not a fan of the round brush and prefer the broad, flat brush instead.

When La Petite Belle got out of the bath this weekend and was getting ready for bed (hence the no shirt, which I'm just realizing she didn't have on), she bounded down the stairs, screaming for help (which is a common sound heard throughout the day at our house ... remember the boy who cried wolf ... meet La Petite Belle).

Granted, she was in quite an entanglement.

This child cannot just take a picture with a regular expression. Can you say, "Drama Queen"?

We did manage to rip  remove the brush from her hair. Only a few hairs were harmed in the process.

This was the only bit of excitement at my house recently ...

Unless you count ...

filling pieces of furniture with laundry,

watching every movie made pertaining to a Jane Austen book,

hatching a hair-brained scheme with my best bud to make $500,

cleaning up after Roxy-Belle's recent intestinal issues,

dog-sitting my mother's dog,

running in 47-degree weather (with a wind chill of freezing to death),

making homemade buttermilk biscuits that were horrible,

and making oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that made up for it.

It's Not About Me

I am so consumed with myself ... MY thoughts, MY emotions, things that happen to ME.

When really, it's not about me.

Nothing is about me.

I am such a small piece in this giant puzzle called "God's plan for the world." I am a tiny part to His master plan.

So, when life happens to me, I just need to deal with it. Get over it. Take a look at the big picture. Trust in God's Word.

Stop looking at every circumstance, even though it affects me, being about me. Make sense?

So what? You're self-esteem got crushed. Your feelings got hurt. Oh, well. Know who you are in Christ, girl! Don't let anything else but that define who you are.

And, when you know that ... I mean, really KNOW that ... you won't care. Stop caring. Know that God is in control, even over the small stuff.

I want to not care. I try to not care ... really I do. But, don't tell me how to feel or try to make light of my feelings and say they're silly. I can't help the way I feel. The question is: What will I do with those feelings, whether they're valid or not?

Will I trust in God? Will I run to God, like David did? Will I run away from God and stuff those feelings? Will I let those feelings control the choices I make? 

As you can see, I'm searching for some answers here ... confirmations.

I need a definite Word from the Lord that I can stand on. I always think that God won't answer me or give me a good, solid "yes" or "no" because I'm so ugly inside. My heart and my mind are in a constant battle. If hearing from God depends on me, I'm in serious trouble.

Then, I read where, after finally becoming king of Israel, David takes on more wives. MORE WIVES. He's in blatant sin ... living in sin, yet he has the favor of God in every battle. God is with him. God is flat-out speaking to him and giving him direction. And David's in sin.

So, here I am, Lord, asking for direction, ugly heart and all. Asking for favor, ugly heart and all. Asking for wisdom, ugly heart and all.

Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.

And, help me to remember ... It's not about me, it's about You. Help me to hear Your voice and know what piece of the puzzle I'm supposed to be.

My Tattoo Advice

This is totally my opinion. Take no offense to what I'm about to say.

I just don't get tattoos.

I just don't get people's desires to get tattoos.

Even more, I just don't get beautiful women's desires to get tattoos.

For instance ... Megan Joy from American Idol:

As you can see, she is a very beautiful girl. Yet, I find myself distracted from her beauty because of the ginormous arm tattoo she's sporting. Beau says, "Yeah, she's beautiful. She'd be even prettier if she cut off her right arm." Yeah, he's mean.

Another woman's tattoos that distract me and ruin her look for me:

Here they all are:

Why would anyone want such a visible tattoo? What statement are they trying to make? What first impression are they trying to make?

And, yes, you may say ... "they don't care." But, I think they do. It's a statement, whether they admit it or not.

So, if you have to make a statement and really want to get a tattoo (which I only contemplate when I'm feeling naughty ... should say something about that statement people are trying to make ... hmm ...), here's my advice.

(And, you do realize this is painful, right? It hurts. Seriously ... needles, ya'll.)

Besides that, here you go:

1. Get something small.

2. Put it somewhere where no one can see it.

3. Make it pretty.

I seriously could find no real tattoos that I like, but I found tons of horrendous tattoos. 

But, if someone was pointing a gun to my head and forcing me to get a tattoo, I'd get this:

But, only if I could get the firm, stretch-mark-free stomach too. Otherwise, no, nothing for me.

Now, please don't misunderstand me, I know lots of beautiful women with tattoos, but they followed my tattoo rules. (Example ... my friend, Soliloquy just got one ... a total rule-follower.)

So, remember these rules the next time you're at the tattoo parlor. And also remember, everyone's entitled to their own opinion, whether you're a tattoo-lover or hater. (Notice, I'm not even mentioning what the Bible says about it because that's a whole other debate. Too much debate on this blog this week.)

And, if you've already done the deed, there's always this (WARNING: This video contains one bleeped-out word and is not appropriate for children.):

Who's been messing with my phone?

These are pictures I found on my phone today (found just in time ... no heavy posts like yesterday, people ... all pointless).

Surprise! Surprise!

The culprit.

The culprit's feet with mine nearby.

The accomplice.

There were more I deleted ... about 3 more of just feet, the back of my head while I'm walking, our pond, Roxy Belle, K Belle coming down the stairs, and some strangers in a store (didn't think they would appreciate me posting their pictures on my blog). Be thankful I limited it to these few.

My Rant

I'm not sure what something like this accomplishes.

While I was at the race I posted about yesterday, there were a few of these types of signs.

But, the kicker was a sign that said this: "Hitler supported the killing of innocent people like you are supporting the killing of babies."

Apparently the Susan Komen Assoc. supports Planned Parenthood, which I didn't know, but would have run even if I did know, because it wasn't about that. It was about saving lives. So, we're not supposed to support cancer research? This organization is one of the largest, if not, the largest donors to support finding a cure for breast cancer.

What kind of response are these people expecting to get from the use of these signs?

It just made me angry.

I understand that we should stand up for our beliefs. I get that. I do that. I'm not ashamed of what I believe. I'll tell anyone about Jesus and how He saved me and how He can save them. I think that all Christians should pray for opportunities to share the Gospel with others. I am totally pro-life and am not ashamed to share my views.

But, not like this.

This is a total turn-off. 

I was ashamed.

I'm running this race and paid my money to support breast cancer research. My grandmother fought breast cancer twice and lost her battle the second time. I have a friend who also died of breast cancer at 36. It's a serious issue for me and I want a cure.

So, here's some questions for these sign-holders: 

Do you use AT & T or shop at KMart or Sears?

Have you ever stayed at a Holiday Inn or eaten Ben & Jerry's ice cream?

Do you get gas at Circle K?

Do you wear Levi's jeans?

Do you drink any Pepsi products?

Do you eat Cheerios, Yoplait yogurt, Cheetos, Doritos, Hostess cupcakes, Lucky Charms cereal, or anything else from General Mills, Pillsbury, or Betty Crocker?

Do you let your kids watch Nickolodeon or Disney channel? Or do you watch ESPN, USA, Showtime, Comedy Central, or Lifetime?

Do you rent movies from Blockbuster or see movies by Paramount, Miramax, Touchstone, or Buena Vista? 

Have you ever worn a Band aid or Chapstick? Or taken Dimetapp, Robitussin, or Excedrin?

Have you ever eaten at Olive Garden, Taco Bell, or Burger King?

Then, guess what?

YOU support abortion.

And, I limited this list to just a few. There are many more.

Your judgmental, finger-pointing signs are not going to turn people toward God; they're going to turn people away.

There's another way. It's called love. It's called standing for what you believe in without  personal attacks. It's called stating the facts ... the Truth ... sharing your heart ... and prayer. That's how others will come to the Lord ... not by sticking a sign in their face.

How I Wanted to Trip a 6-Year-Old & I'm Not as Competitive as I Thought

Let me take you back in time ... to Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m.

The alarm rings. I do not want to get up. (You see I had registered to run on a team for the Susan B. Komen 5K Race.)

I drag myself out of the bed. My stomach is aching and I'm tired from staying up until 1:00 a.m. the night before watching a movie with Beau (who's still sleeping like a baby, by the way). (I mean, I was seriously hurtin', ya'll.) I sit on the bathroom floor holding my stomach.

My thoughts are this: "You've already paid your money to the association to support breast cancer research. No one is going to care if you show up for the race or not. Parking is going to be an extreme problem when you get there anyway. Your stomach is hurting. Your throat is hurting and you have to sing tonight. You'd better get back in that bed, missy, and go back to sleep."

Then this thought: "Get your fat, lazy butt up. Get dressed and get to that race. You will regret it if you don't."

My actions followed the latter thoughts. I sluggishly put on my running shorts and my over-sized team t-shirt, that I'm putting on for the first time and realizing it is almost as long as my shorts. Nice.

I get my trusty running shoes on and put my hair in a lovely ponytail and as little make-up required to make me non-scary to others. I head out the door, leaving my sleepy little family behind.

As I'm driving downtown, my phone rings. It's my friend, Carlie, who recruited me onto this team. She says that the entire team has decided not to run or walk the 5K, but is going to do the 1K. Great. I've been busting my butt for the last couple of weeks just to not die running this race and now I'll be running it alone. She asks if I want to just do the 1K with them. Absolutely not. I'm about to turn around and go back home or just head over to my 5K running small group that meets on Saturday morning that I'm missing for this. I tell her that I will head downtown and if I can't find a parking place right away, I'm not going to stay.

When I get downtown, I immediately find a parking space. Confirmation. Stay & run this race by yourself.

So, I did.

I went to the front of the line with all the "serious runners." I'm standing right next to some women who are extremely proud of their bodies (granted, their bodies looked good, but come on, leave something to the imagination) ... tiny shorts, even tinier sports bras (with over-sized boobs that I feared would hurt them during the race), belly rings, fake tans, perfect hair & make-up, and back tattoos. And here I am in my over-sized t-shirt and shorts. Joy.

The race begins. 

I start my iPod and run. I run too fast. People are crowding me. I'm passing some people up and a lot of people are passing me. I'm just trying not to trip over someone at first.

Then, the crowd starts to thin out. I have enough room. I run. I think I'm still running too fast and I'm telling myself to slow down.

I grab some water and feel like I'm a real runner. I drink it, spilling it all over me and throw the cup down on the ground, like a real runner would do.

I feel like everyone is passing me up and I'm not passing anyone up anymore.

And, I mean EVERYONE ... moms with strollers, grandpas, and the kicker ... some kids, about 6 or 7 years old. I seriously wanted to put my foot out and trip them. Seriously.

OK, just keep your focus. Just make it to the end.

"Sweet Child 'O Mine" comes on. I get a little burst of energy because I can see I'm getting closer to the end. I run faster. I get to the finish line. I hit a dead stop. Total bottleneck.

Here's the part where I find out that I'm not as competitive as I thought. I stand there in line. Everyone stands there in line, waiting for their tags to be pulled to clock their time. Here's the problem: I've already been waiting about 5 minutes. How am I going to have an accurate running time? The announcer says, "If you're not a competitive person, and don't care about your time, just step out of line." I step out. I clocked my own time, thank you very much ... 30 minutes, 30 seconds ... my fastest running time ever.
I have another interesting observation I'll share with you tomorrow because this post is way too long.

Discipline or Lack Thereof

Beau says he really admires my discipline. He said this in a non-sarcastic, truthful manner as I was putting on my running shoes.

My reply: "What? Really?"

This caught me off-guard. 

He says I'm a very disciplined person.

Funny how other people see you completely opposite as you see yourself.

I think I'm the most undisciplined person I know.

For instance:

I can't pass up a good cookie or piece of chocolate to save my life.

I try to think of every excuse not to run.

Some nights I forget to read my Bible.

Controlling my tongue is a whole issue in itself.

I can't close my bathroom closet door because the laundry is piled so high.

I have dirty dishes in the sink.

I've been meaning to organize my downstairs storage closet for several months now and it's still not done.

Some nights my family has sandwiches or some sort of frozen meal or cereal for dinner.

I can go a week without shaving my legs.

There are some clothing items in my closet I don't wear because I would have to iron them.

I could go on and on.

In fact, you know what's funny? I could put "and I feel extremely guilty because of it" after every one of these.

Maybe that's the reason why people see me as disciplined. Because for me, the guilt of not doing some of these things is worse than actually just getting off my butt and doing them.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. I fail every day, but start over the next day with a new commitment to not fail and to push through my "don't want tos."

If that makes me disciplined ... um ... OK.

What 49 Cents Will Get You & An Accident Waiting to Happen

This is an attempt to show you the dress I bought for 49 cents. It involved lots of hopping and deleted pictures and laughter.

What $16.99 will get you ... 

What boredom and waiting will get you ... 

Tootie's got nothin' on me.

Don't know what I'm talking about?

Here's Tootie. She hung out with Blaire.

Remember the rest of the girls in the house with Ms. Garrett ... Jo, Natalie and ...

my new best friend, Blaire.

Yeah ... she's pretty much gonna be my new best friend. 

You see, I'm going to be spending some time with this lady in a few weeks. She's coming over to my place, actually my church. She's speaking at our women's conference coming up in April.

I mean, I might be sharing a bread basket or chips and salsa with Blaire. Weird.

What will we talk about?

I looked to the source (The Facts of Life) for conversation tips.

Should we talk about when she hid "dope" in her lipstick case just to fit in?

Should we talk about the time the other girls in the house shoplifted?

Should we talk about the time she read Natalie's diary (shame, shame)?

I will bring up none of these things.

I am Jo in this minisode ... the faithful, loyal, and sometimes sarcastic friend. Whatever we talk about will go in the vault. Seriously. I'm not telling the deep, dark secrets she tells me. Remember ... BEST FRIENDS. I will not be Tootie in this minisode.

Side note: Here's another little lady I'll be with.

Email me if you live nearby and want tickets.

Here's more information for the locals. And, yes, that is my little voice you hear, trying desperately to sound Mid-western, with no hint of any Southern accent.

I've waited 37 years to see something like this.

Finally. (So much for my anonymity, but I have posted about this issue before.)

I was the kid that went to AstroWorld (Houston's Six Flags that doesn't exist anymore) that could find no souvenir with her name on it.

I scoured every gift shop in the country and was never able to take anything home with my name on it.

No necklace.

No key ring.

No pencils.

No mug.

And, definitely no shot glass (of course that would have been inappropriate).

I told Beau I was going to order this just because it was such a thrill to flip the page and not see "Katie" or "Stacey" or "Amanda" or "Emily" monogrammed on an item.

BRAVO, Lillian Vernon, BRAVO!

On another note of randomness: Just checked my live traffic feed and noticed someone came to my site via googling "do your boobs hand low" ... no, not HANG low ... "hand low." First, get your words right. Second, how dare you ... I am a young vibrant woman and have no idea what middle-aged nonsense you are talking about (wink).

Nothing Beats the Love of a Daddy

Being a child of a single mom for a lot of my young life, I missed out on these types of moments.

What a treasure for my young daughters: Daddy-Daughter Date Nite. Beau takes each of the girls on dates throughout the year.

On Friday night, Beau & K Belle went to one of our favorite sushi restaurants. K Belle consumed more sushi than Beau. Here's a few pics taken with Beau's phone, so excuse the blurriness.

They shared some tender moments of conversation about trust, boys, and growing up.

I still remember this little baby girl who used to say "lemolade" and "Could I please get some turning up?" when she wanted me to turn up the radio in the car. I remember her "I not like raisins" said with a scowl on her face, and the 10-20 books she forced me to read to her every day. I remember her sweet, innocent singing that filled our home and best of all, I remember rocking and singing her to sleep every night ... 3-4 songs and she was out.

Tonight, I got so sentimental that I watched a video ... yes, videotape ... of her first and second birthdays. Then, I found this DVD. She was in an old Father's Day commercial we did at the church. She's the four-year-old with the "Drama Queen" t-shirt on. Some of the accents here are pretty thick. You Northerners ain't got nothin' on us.

Seriously, treasure EVERY moment ... even the poop.

The Winner & The Loser

The Winner: Sweet Potato Cinnamon Rolls

The Loser: Me and my attempt to participate in Project 365

Here's the recipe I promised for these winning rolls (from Southern Living).

Remember these?

Sweet Potato Cinnamon Rolls

Ingredients:

2 (1/4-oz.) envelopes active dry yeast

1/2 c. warm water

1 tsp. sugar

5 1/2 c. all-purpose flour

1 c. mashed sweet potatoes

1 egg, slightly beaten

1 c. buttermilk

1/2 c. sugar

1/4 c. melted butter

2 T. orange rind

1 1/2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. baking soda

Non-stick cooking spray

Filling (see below)

Glaze (see below)

1. Stir together yeast, 1/2 c. warm water, & 1 tsp. sugar in a 1 c. measuring cup; let stand 5 min.

2. Combine yeast mixture & 1/2 c. flour in a mixing bowl; stir vigorously until well blended. Gradually add mashed sweet potatoes, next 7 ingredients, & 4 1/2 c. flour, stirring until well blended after each addition.

3. Turn dough onto a well-floured surface, & knead until smooth & elastic (about 4-5 min.).

4. Place dough in a large bowl coated with cooking spray. Cover with plastic wrap  & let rise in a warm place, free from drafts, 1 hour-1 1/2 hours (or overnight in fridge). 

5. Punch dough down. Turn dough onto a well-floured surface, and roll into a 10X18" rectangle. Spread filling, leaving 1" border. Roll up dough, jell-roll fashion, starting at 1 long side. Cut into 12 (1 1/2") slices, and arrange in a lightly greased 13X9" baking pan. Cover with plastic wrap, and let rise in a warm place, free from drafts 30 minutes. 

6. Bake rolls at 400 degrees for 10 minutes. Remove rolls from oven; drizzle about 1/2 cup glaze slowly over rolls, starting at 1 edge of pan and drizzling in a circular pattern; let glaze soak in. Repeat procedure with remaining glaze. 

7. Bake rolls 7-10 more minutes or until lightly browned and a wooden pick inserted comes out clean. 

8. Remove rolls from oven, and invert onto an aluminum foil-lined baking sheet. Invert again, glaze side up, onto a serving platter. Let cool 20-30 minutes. Serve warm.

Filling:

3/4 c. melted butter

2 c. firmly packed light brown sugar

1 c. chopped toasted pecans

2 T. cinnamon

Stir together all ingredients until blended.

Glaze:

1 c. firmly packed light brown sugar

1/3 c. light corn syrup

1/4 c. butter

1/2 c. whipping cream

1 tsp. vanilla extract

Stir together sugar, corn syrup, and butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a light boil, stirring constantly. Remove from heat, and stir in cream and vanilla.

Remember this?
I just can't do it. Sorry, Sara. I've tried, but I think the whole point of the project is missed when you try to hurry up and take all the pictures on Saturday night. Or have already posted your pictures for the week in previous posts. I so loved the idea though ... the idea that I would be disciplined enough to do this ... or even remember to do it. So, yes, I am the loser. 

I'm not competitive at all (cough).

I issued a challenge to our associate pastor, mainly because I just needed him to cook something for a meeting. 

This associate pastor is a self=proclaimed gourmet chef and quite happy with his prepared dishes. I've only tasted a few, so I wouldn't know the extent of his "greatness." The things I have tasted were pretty good ... until today ... The Cinnamon Roll Bake-Off of 2009. (What is my deal with challenges lately? Remember this.)

Just to prove I did bake these pieces of deliciousness from scratch. I took a few pics.

This was my counter this morning.

The 13th cinnamon roll that didn't fit in the baking pan (consumed by me & the family). That extra roll was just the leftover dough that made a quite tasty sweet potato biscuit.

The rolls hot from the oven

Mine versus his. Mine contained pecans, his ... raisins (which I dislike). Granted his presentation does look better, but the proof of greatness is in pudding (or should I say roll). He proclaims I cheated because mine was a sticky bun, not a plain ol' cinnamon roll. Sounds like something someone would say that wanted his roll to win by default and not taste.

Let's just say ... um ... mine were better (according to everyone, except the non-nut-lover).

Just look at these signs of satisfaction.

If you look closely, mine are almost gone ... his, not so much.

Thanks for participating in the challenge, Pastor David. Sorry for your loss.

I'll post the recipe this weekend for these award-winning sweet potato cinnamon rolls.

My Reputation is Tarnished.

Last night, Beau went to pick up La Petite Belle from dance. On the way home, they passed by some young men smoking.

La Petite Belle: Daddy, did you ever smoke a cigarette?

Beau: Yes

La Petite Belle: (appalled) What?!? 

Beau: Baby, I don't smoke, but I have tried it.

La Petite Belle: Did Mommy ever smoke a cigarette?

Beau: Yes

La Petite Belle: Great, I live with a bunch of smokers.

This bit of information combined with the whole drinking thing is tarnishing my good mother reputation.

News Flash For All You Young Mothers

(or maybe I should say mothers WITH young children)

You just think it's over.

The diapers.

The poop.

The cleaning up after the poop.

Let me tell you ... it's not.

And I have the plunger to prove it.

I'll spare you the details.

But, the whole experience reminded me of all the fond memories I hold dear to my heart of La Petite Belle and her issues with poop.

One story goes like this ...

The whole family was eating at the table. La Petite Belle was in the bathroom and proceeds to yell out that she has "diarita" (diarrhea). We continue to eat and don't respond to her promptly enough. She yells out again ... "HELLOOOOOO! I said, I have diarita. Does anyone care?"

That's just one story.

I have others involving bananas and going in the back yard naked.

What can I say? Never a dull moment.

The Things I Do For You People

I got this free trial in the mail.

It's name: Eyepothesis

It's claim: A 20-minute eye lift -

That would tone and firm, smooth and moisturize, and most importantly, tighten and lighten.

How? With the help of the anti-wrinkle eye patches with collagen boost.

Let's see.

Before you scroll down, remember ... it's allergy season, people. I'm not well today. That's the truth. I'm not just making it up as an excuse for my horrid appearance. I'm not breathing and light-headed. Puffiness is inevitable, along with messy hair and the look that follows a day of staying home trying to nurse myself to good health so that I can work tomorrow.

Remember that.

Here's me before. (It takes some kind of brave woman to post pics like this. Seriously.)

Before:

One hour with the eye patches.

After:

Yeah ... it's pretty much the same.

In real life though, under my eyes was a lot smoother and lighter (says Beau). The box says you should do this 2-3 times a week. Who has time for that? And, it's not cheap. Think I'll just stick with my wide array of eye creams in my bedside table, and lots of concealer.

Seriously.

Anything I write will pale in comparison to Friday's post.

I'm not that clever or witty.

So, what better way to follow up the eyebrow thing than with random bullet points? Yay for bullet points! They're perfect for when you don't have more than one sentence, or phrase, for that matter, about one particular topic or event in your life.

* I am overjoyed over the fact that I have a young girl coming every other week to do some cleaning. She's raising money and I wanted to be a help, not to mention I'm getting a heck of a lot in return. I feel rich and guilty at the same time, like I'm one of those ladies who plays tennis and does lunch with friends every day. She will dust, sweep & mop, and clean the bathrooms. I will continue to do my everyday laundry, kitchen duty, and clean-up. Beau has made me a very happy woman with this.

* Allergy season is upon us. I'm hurtin'. The breathing is a problem right now.

* In relation to the previous bullet, I have discovered that I do not like the Kleenex with the lotion in it. Why wouldn't you want a dry tissue to blow your snot in? The lotiony tissues just smear the snot all over your face. Not something I like. I want dry, clean tissues. 

* Daylight Savings Time has totally screwed me up.

* What is it about Sam's Warehouse Club that makes me giddy? I'm not sure. But, do I really need 120 granola bars? I'm looking forward to my trip today. Oh, how I long for samples.

* Beau and I are considering getting rid of our house phone and only having our cell phones. What do you think about that? Everyone calls our cell phones anyway. Do we really need a house phone?

* I have discovered Edy's Slow-Churned Thin Mint Ice Cream. La Petite Belle and I love it. This is how I found the container yesterday. This girl doesn't play. She literally licked the container clean.