Nostalgia

I remember as a kid being overjoyed every time the ice cream truck came past our house. Our folks, as I recall, were pretty indulgent, and I know I ate my fair share of the patriotic red, white and blue bomb pops. Anything to make your lips look extra ghoulish, right?

Our neighborhood now reminds me a lot of the one where I grew up. Lots of families, kids out playing and riding their bikes. So it was no surprise when the familiar tune of the ice cream truck showed up a few weeks ago.

What was surprising was my reaction.

Maybe it's just innocence lost. Maybe I've read one too many stories about Bad People who prey on children. But the ice cream truck creeps me out now. So I've resisted the eager eyes who look imploringly upon Mean Mama Who, begging for a treat. No sugar before bedtime, I say. We have ice cream at home, I add.

Today, I caved.

I've been feeling crappy for weeks, and we're still trying to figure out why. I've had enough blood tests to make even a vampire feel full. We've ruled out a bunch of bad stuff but still haven't figured out what's messing me up. It's sucked, quite a bit, because I know I haven't been a lot of fun to be around. I haven't had energy for much more than what absolutely needs to be done many days. Who I, my deep thinker who worries about whether her body will stink when she gets big and still cries over the dog we lost a year and a half ago, has even asked her daddy, "When you and mommy die, what happens to us?" and told me, "Mommy, when you die, I'll be sad."

Sheesh.

But today, finally, was a good day. I spread mulch, with the help of Who I, and my flower garden doesn't look like a weed patch. I finished the laundry and did the grocery shopping. My house doesn't look like pigs live here for the first time in weeks. So when the ice cream man hit our street and they heard the music, I didn't say a word. I just grabbed some cash and said, "Let's go."

Yes, the ice cream man creeped me out. I'll probably have the same reaction when we take them to the fair. There's no way they're going to ever go without adult supervision. And my husband simply shook his head at me when he saw I was letting them have SUGAR that close to bedtime. (This is the same man who thinks the cinnamon rolls from the place with the yellow arches count as dinner for the wee folk.)

But sometimes, even Mama has to break the rules. And the joy on their sticky little faces was a much-needed reminder of how incredibly blessed I am.