Ice Cream Man

So, we got dumped with snow again this week. The totals in the North East have already exceeded the average winter and it's still January. Which got me thinking about summer. Which got me thinking about the ice cream man. I remember watching Eddie Murphy (it was either Raw or Delirious, I don't remember) do a bit on what the ice cream man is like to a little kid. The panic that sets in. I remember thinking it was really funny. ICE CREAM MAN! Eddie was the king back in those days. Then I didn't think much of it. Until last summer. Boy and I are in the backyard playing baseball. Then we hear the distant bells of "the Entertainer" playing. Time stops. Boy drops his baseball bat at his feet. His head looks up at me and his eyes bulge. I swear I see his pupils dilate. The panic. Animal instinct takes over. ICE CREAM MAN! He sprints into the house. Now, I love the ice cream man. I'm not actually a huge ice cream fan, I just love the idea of the truck. It brings back memories of youth and good times. A bunch of years back, we had rented a big house on the Cape with a bunch of friends. We hear the ice cream man coming and I sprint out of the house to make sure I get there in time. I'm in my mid-twenties at the time. I look around me and it's all kids. Bikes are scattered along the side of the road. I get to the front and I order something like 10 Chipwiches. The 8-year-old standing next to me looks up and says "good order". I well with pride. So fast-forward to this summer. Boy runs into the house, grabs a butter knife and goes upstairs to his piggy bank and he is trying to pry open the plug on the bottom. He's shaking. He can't get it open. He goes looking for his wallet. He can't find it. Boy, I got you covered. He seems relieved, but we're still in crisis mode. Will we miss the truck? Will the truck take a last-minute detour down the wrong side street? He looks out the front door. We're still OK. He opens the door and barrels down to the end of the street. I can't keep up. Now, to a small child's eyes, the side of an ice cream truck can be daunting. It's an assault on the senses not unlike walking through Times Square. There are all varieties of things on sticks, sandwiched between cookies, dipped in chocolate, in shapes of feet, or with Spongebob all over the packaging. We don't have much time until we're at the front. He's deciding between about 5 different things. We're up. Rather than lament any more, he asks which of his possibilities is the largest. He goes with that. A respectable decision-making process if you ask me. It's a giant, 8-inch watermelon pop on a stick. Flourescents of green and pink. He downs the whole thing and runs around for about an hour. I hose him off. Then he goes inside and takes a nap.

The day I learned Boy knows math

Math tends to come easy to people in my family. Not that I'm trying to brag or anything. I have plenty of faults. I can't read or comprehend any kind of legal paperwork, but I can do math in my head. We were visiting some friends of ours recently. They have 2 kids, around the same ages as my kids. They also have a playroom. Anyone with kids knows that any kind of new toy becomes a bit of an obsession. Just this weekend I stopped and picked up a Little Tykes ride-on toy off the side of the road. It had a free sign on it, I figured I'd grab it. The price was right. It's the little one with the roof and doors that open. I came home late Sunday night and I threw it in the playroom. Today, the kids can't stay away from it. It's old, but it's new to us so it has the sheen of something never played with. Girl spent the morning in it. When Boy came home from school he took over. He sat in it to watch TV. He sat in it to eat his lunch. He sat in it to annoy his sister. Alpha male. So when we go to a new house with kids, it's as if their house is filled with all brand new things. New to him, at least. It's like looking in the fridge after Mommy goes food shopping. Ooooh, look at all the options. Hot Pockets, String cheese, potato chips. Anyway, we gotta get going home from our friends house at this point. It's late, we've spent too much time there. Boy, we gotta go. Please go use the bathroom. Nothing. Ignored. Boy, please go to the bathroom. Nothing. We also have excellent selective hearing in my family. I'll make a deal. Boy, if you go to the bathroom, you can have 2 more minutes of playtime. Shrewd negotiation I think. At age 5, everything is either an argument or a negotiation. Put your socks on. Buy me a lego. Brush your teeth. I'm watching Mythbusters. Eat your dinner. I want cake. I try to think like a 5-year-old, so I figure the 2 minutes of play to use the bathroom might work. Then he comes out with a counter. If I go to the bathroom 2 times, can I play for 4 more minutes? The adults kind of looked at each other. Did he just do multiplication at 5 years old? Absolutely. I hate lawyers.