Ice Cream

Is there anything better than an ice cream cone from the local stand at the end of a hot summer day?

There isn't, which is why we decided to get an ice cream cone from the local stand at the end of a cold summer day.

I had a meeting at church last night. Google maps is awfully helpful around rush hour, and I knew that I shouldn't attempt to take the highway through the city. Instead, I thought I would "save time" by going around the city on the outer loop. Long story short, now James asks J "did Daddy go the right way this time?" every time we make a turn at a stoplight. Google maps is awfully helpful.

The meeting was fine. I found J and the boys watching the church softball game out behind the parking lot. James was paying close attention and asking important questions like "Why is home plate dirty?" and "Is home plate facing the right way?" and "Is home plate white or black?" Owen was smiling at any old lady who walked by him and trying to bend backwards out of the carrier to make faces at them.

I asked J whether she'd told James. She said she hadn't.

"We need to get back in the car now."
"I wanna watch the baseball game."
"It's time to go."
"Why it's time to go?"
"We have a surprise."
"Oh! What's the surprise?"
"We can't tell you. Otherwise it won't be a surprise."
James thought for a minute.
"Hey Daddy, can you tell me?"

This kept up as we pulled out of the parking lot. We'd been to Lugia's the previous week after a picnic with O&K. James had ordered dark chocolate ice cream and a cone and had eaten with all the intense seriousness of a little boy who is blind to everything in the world except his ice cream cone, including the fact that his ice cream cone is dripping enormous black streaks down the front of his shirt. He finished last of course, and would hardly say a word to anybody until he had finished the final bites of the cone, clearly uncomfortably full and covered from head to foot in the sticky black goo. We'd stripped him out of his shirt, napkined him off as best we could, and he immediately fell asleep when we were driving back.

Last night he kept on asking what the surprise was. Finally he spotted the cow on top of the Lugia's building.
"Hey, is this the ice cream place?"
"It sure is."
"Are we going to get some ice cream?"
"We are! That's the surprise!"
He suddenly took on a serious and thoughtful expression.
"Oh...I hope I don't spill ice cream all over my SHIRT again."
He then turned to his baby brother in the backseat.
"Hey Owen, we're at the ice cream place? Do you remember? George remembers!"
(George wasn't in the car, and he hadn't been in the car for the previous week's visit either. But it's important that George remembers all the things that James likes to remember.)

The lines were short, since it was so cold. I tried a cherry pie ice cream, J ordered cake batter, and James got another type of dark chocolate, this time with raspberry dark chocolate pieces mixed in. We shivered on the bench as we ate, and J and I finished long before him again. He asked to eat the rest of his in the car, which we vetoed. We decided to walk to a sunnier spot to keep warm, and J held his ice cream as we made our way. She tried a bite, and then she gave me a bite, and then she took another. We both agreed that his ice cream was better than either of ours.

"Hey, what happened to all my ice cream?"

It turns out that a three year old DOES notice when three bites of his ice cream go missing.

"Umm...Mommy had a bite."
"But...where it go?"
"I ate it James...I'm sorry."
"But what happened to my ice cream?"

To his credit, he didn't cry or whine. He ate the rest of the ice cream and even said thank (when prompted) for the treat out. But I think we may owe him another trip to the ice cream stand.

Oh, darn.