I know a lot of you are just getting the first inkling of Spring where you live, but this is Texas and it’s been glorious for several weeks now. We know that summer will be here soon because we heard the dulcet tunes of the ice cream man yesterday. We have several extremely shabby ice cream vans that come around occassionally. Frankly, they make me nervous, but I figure the stuff is all prepackaged so what the heck.
The Kona Ice Cream truck is different. It’s new and gorgeous and plays reggae music out of its booming speakers (with a name like Kona shouldn’t it play Hawaiian music?) There is even a do-it-yourself shaved ice bar on the side. Basically it’s a kids’ dream on wheels.
As I was pondering dinner ideas yesterday afternoon (actually it was 7:15 but I just can’t get used to this daylight savings time) I heard the Kona ice reggae. I was so hoping the ice cream man would pass our little cul-de-sac by, but no luck. He paused an extra long time. Mister suggested we just feed everyone ice cream for dinner (parenting at its finest!) so we all headed outside.
“It’s like you just knew we were here!” Mister joked with the guy working on the truck. “Oh yeah,” the guy said, “your house is circled on my map.”
That explains a lot.
P.S. We also fed the kids a bag of sugar snap peas, so we’re not totally irresponsible parents.
P.P.S. I grew up on this dirt road surrounded by forest in the gritty urban sprawl of Detroit. Seriously it was weird; this neighborhood that the city forgot. Consequently the ice cream truck never came down our street. Never. NEVER. So I still feel this thrill in the core of my soul when the ice cream man comes by. And I have a very hard time saying no.
P.P.P.S. Don’t forget to enter my giveaway by Thursday night!