Ice Cream, You Scream

The Man and I went out for ice cream tonight.

We used to go out with the kids for ice cream when they were younger; as a matter of fact, we still do when we're at the beach. One of our favorite things to do is go to Ben & Jerry's. But we haven't gone out by ourselves in a very, very long time.

It was so sweet.

We sat at the picnic table, enjoyed our soft serve cones, and just chatted about a little of this and a little of that. Nothing in particular. Just some chat.

The cones weren't very expensive but the time we spent together was priceless.

Ugh. I don't like using "priceless". Overused by the credit card company in their commercials. And the fifteen billion people who jumped on the bandwagon and started using it for everything else.

But it fits sometimes. 

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I gave a co-worker a ride home today. Her car is in the shop getting some body work done. 

I wish we could go in for body work that easily and shave a few off here and a few off there. Lift a little here, lift a little there. You know what I mean.

I pulled into her driveway and saw her youngest son just getting out of his car. I waved hello and called him over. Then I told him I wanted him to stop building the house he was working on and start taking it down. It was ruining the view of the corn field. He laughed and said something back to me and started to walk toward the house.

I shouted to him, "Remember, D, take the nails out. Nails out. Not in." He chuckled again, humoring me. And then I looked at my co-worker and told her to tell him I was serious. 

But not really.

Just then, her neighbor pulled into his driveway and parked. He got out of the truck and went around to the passenger side to get his son out of his car seat. As soon as the kid got out, we could hear him screaming and crying. The neighbor gave us a chagrined looked as he started up the walkway. My co-worker called out to him teasing, "What are you doing to that sweet boy?" 

It had to be something horrid the way the child was carrying on.

The sweet boy trailed behind his father all the way to the front door, crying the whole way and letting out a scream every other step. 

His father was talking to my co-worker's son. He briefly turned around and said sharply, "Stop it!" and then went back to talking.

The child just screamed louder.

His father looked at him and gave him the stink eye. He said, "Stop it!" a little more sharply. Now the boy stopped and looked at him, waiting.

"You are not allowed to eat chicken nuggets that have been in the car for three days!" 

And with that, he scooped the child up and took him into the house.

I think he needs to read Bringing Up Bébé, don't you?