Every single night growing up, I would innocently ask my mom to scoop me some ice cream. For some reason it always tastes better when she does it, in the little blue ramekins we have at home. No matter what I was going through in middle or high school, all my problems seemed to melt away when we shared our nightly bowls of ice cream, the kind from the Amish farms that taste a million times better than any other ice cream I’ve had.
Not only every night, but every time something bad happened, something amazing happened, or we just passed a cute little ice cream parlor, my mom and I stopped for a scoop. In my mind, there is nothing more mom-coded than a bowl of ice cream (I will mention we are both lactose intolerant, so this article might be a little concerning for our health).
Moving 3,000 miles away from my ice cream-scooping best friend was not easy. I found it hard to find any connection to Pennsylvania at UCLA. I was faced with the biggest problems in growing up, in stress, and in the most unnecessarily scarring communal bathroom experiences, and I no longer had my mom and a carton of ice cream to make it all better. With shockingly low access to ice cream on the hill (Cafe 1919 made my tummy convulse so I couldn’t partake in it), I was left hungry and sad way too often.
But, everything changed this year when I moved into a house. I am now at a much closer proximity to Ralph’s, Trader Joe’s, and Target (for better or for worse for my bank account), and many of my friends have cars. With a constant stock of Ben and Jerry’s, Haagen-Daaz, or Talenti in my freezer, I now find myself eating ice cream before 11AM on a regular basis. I can’t even call it a guilty pleasure, because it is so fundamental in my daily productivity. I don’t think it’s just the ice cream, though. I think it is the feeling of being connected to my mom that helps me in these daily tasks. When I eat a bite of ice cream, it’s like I know my troubles can melt away just as easily.
Ice cream is something I will shamelessly get alone. I’ll hop on a bus or walk to Diddy Riese (although I am a hater of Diddy Riese, hot take) and grab a scoop. I never feel alone in this; I know that my mom is at home having a scoop, probably at the same obscure time as me. I so easily could have done this last year and had a much easier transition to school, so I encourage you to not wait. Whether you’re in your first or last year at UCLA, remember that tradition you have with a loved one that always made you feel better growing up. Even though it won’t be exactly the same, traditions change and grow with us; it’s only natural. The act of intentionally doing something that connects me to home or a loved one actually has a tangible, beneficial effect on my emotions and productivity. My ice cream scooper makes home feel a little less far away.