Channeling the Soup Nazi on “Sienfeld,” Breyers®, the ice cream maker that has been dishing out scoops to families for more than 150 years, is telling its customers: “No hormones for you!”
Committed to providing quality product, Breyers® announced it will only use milk and cream from farmers who don’t treat their cows with artificial growth hormones, By the end of the month, you’ll be able to find Breyers® ice cream stamped with “No Artificial Growth Hormones Used on Cows. Our Milk and Cream Promise” on the tamper band. All those other delicious brands – Fruttare®, Good Humor®, Klondike®, Magnum® and Popsicle® Brands – are expected to do the same later this year.
My daughter Savannah is one of the children who can’t receive the MMR vaccine. I was gung-ho on getting her fully vaccinated until a round of hospitalizations and a blood transfusion derailed my plans and I was emphatically told by her team of doctors: “Don’t!”
I marched into motherhood with the same rabid determination I approached everything – my career, school, love. That little pink line on the EPT ignited all my neurotic tendencies and I immediately began stockpiling parenting books with the fervor David Koresh ammunition.
I had my first taste of gelato while backpacking through Italy years back. One could say it was love at first bite. Blistering hot that summer and on a backpacker’s budget, gelato soon became my go-to food. And so I ate it. Every day.
I returned stateside a bit of a gelato snob, so could rarely find anything as delicious as those scoops I had in Italy until I discovered Breyers Gelato Indulgences.
Note to self: It’s never a good sign when a 9-year-old, upon being introduced to the new babysitter says: “Ok, here’s how it goes….”
You know your kid is a true New Yorker when they announce they have to meet someone “in the hall at 12:00 p.m.”
Not park. Playground. Baseball field. But hall. As in that little narrow passageway outside your apartment door.
Trying to get my 9-year-old daughter to write thank you cards after Christmas had me feeling like was Professor Henry Higgins and Savannah Eliza Doolittle. Between the protests of “I’ll do it later” and “Do I haaaave to?” I realized I had a raw, crude human on my hands being who would probably prefer to sell flowers on the street than write the simple words “thank you” on a piece of paper.