Scenes from Saturday + Chasing the Ice Cream Man

When I was in high school, some of the more talented musicians formed a band. I don’t think it lasted a month, but it did produce one memorable single: The Ice Cream Man Goes 80 MPH. I don’t remember much about the actual song other than it sounded like a wall of static on in my Pontiac 6000’s cassette player, but that is one great song title.

As the weather has become warmer, we’ve started eating dinner on the porch with the screen doors open. We live on a side street off a side street, but the sound carries. Specifically the dulcet, calliope tones of an ice cream truck trolling along a suburban street. On any halfway sunny day, Ally can hardly make it through her broccoli as she fidgets at every buzz or rattle straining to hear that siren song.

On those rare days (two so far this year) when she hears it, she transforms into a high-pitched puddle of pink and purple vibration. I’ve tried to rationally explain that you can buy just about every one of the novelties in the food store, but it makes no impact. There is something magical about a music-playing truck that delivers ice cream to your house.

But actually hearing the music is only the first step. The truck doesn’t come up our street, so we now need to scramble to actually catch up to him. He doesn’t quite go 80 miles per hour, but he doesn’t dawdle, either. Time is money. We need to hustle if Ally is going to her ice cream treat. 

Let me tell you, there is no greater hero in the world than when Dad catches up to the ice cream man….

We start the day, not with ice cream (Dad isn’t that crazy), but with Full House (Jesse graduates high school) and some couch time.

 

No breakfast chef today, but she did pick out a chocolate fudge recipe to make from her kid’s cookbook. I was happy it was a simple recipe that didn’t require turning on the oven. Ally was happy it involved chocolate and M&Ms.

 

In a bit of a role reversal, Chelle was racing a 10k today, so just me and the girls for a bit. After a few more episodes of bad jokes and laugh tracks, we headed outside to walk Dash before the humidity became too unbearable.

 

Last indoor swim lesson today. Bubble comes off next week. Not sure if we’ll continue them in the summer. Ally successfully won’t drown, but she won’t break any 50 meter records either. I think that’s about right for a 5 year old.

 

For a change, there wasn’t a lot on the official Saturday agenda, so after swim, we did a few errands. For some reason, Ally really enjoys making sure Dash has an adequate supply of treats.

 

Next, we hit the food store to get ingredients for the fudge making. Much to the delight of the cashier, Ally decided to re-enact the grocery store scene from Sing. You never know when the dancing will start with her.

 

In exchange for only moderate complaining about doing the errands, we hit up the playground on the way home.

 

In exchange for going to the playground, Mother Nature took pity on me and dropped some rain cutting our visit a little short. You know it’s hot and sticky when the kids don’t complain about leaving the playground.

 

Home for lunch and all that was missing from Pop Pop’s famous “swanky” franks recipe were the crescent rolls. Again, not turning on the oven today.

 

Rejuvenated by lunch and being out the heat, they were happy to play inside for a bit. I noticed they had no issue making the doll’s bed. Their own beds are another story.

 

There must have been some Sandman dust in all those blowing waves of pollen as Ally conked out for a rare nap. I’m a huge wimp when waking the dragon, so I sent Dash in to wake her with warm kisses. It seemed to do the trick.

 

After nap, it was time for the fudge making. Good recipe to get kids comfortable with the stove as it stays on low the whole time.

 

Then it was time for putting some sweat-equity and curb-appeal in by planting some flowers. It was a full on Home Depot commercial out there. 

 

One benefit to Michelle’s race being near the city was that we were able to indulge in some good Mexican takeout. The suburbs do a lot of things well, but not pizza or burritos. 

 

Then it was time to sample the fudge (it was “good”), a little Netflix and get to bed.

 

Tonight, I hope they’re having sweet, melty dreams of choco-tacos, ice cream sandwiches and rocket pops. You always catch the ice cream man in your dreams.

 

MIKE'S WINDOW

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