Not the Ice Cream Truck

My daughter and I were playing Monopoly yesterday afternoon when I heard a far off melody.   I listened and then jumped out of the chair saying, “is that the ice cream truck?”   My children love when an ice cream truck comes by.   It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s like Christmas and Halloween combined from an excitement level.

As I headed to the door my daughter yelled out, “Greyson, the Ice Cream Truck is here!”   He ran up from the basement by the time I’d gone outside, where I couldn’t hear the sound anymore.   I went back in to find both of my children trying to get out the door.   I told them I didn’t think it was the ice cream truck after all.   My son was certain though and headed out.   I told him if he heard it to let us know.

My daughter and I heard that far off music again.   I opened the door, stepped out and the music faded.   I came back in and it got louder.   I said to my daughter, “it’s coming from inside.”   A dawning expression came over her face as she listened.   She said, “oh, I know what it is, it’s my watch.”

She didn’t have her watch on on Memorial Day as we were just spending time at home.   Mimi had called her twice on it.   We got the watch and my daughter answered the call the next time it rang.   After answering she said, “Mimi, can I call you back?  We’re playing Monopoly."

The Big Boy Update:   My son came home from school today and was a little bit disregulated.  Well, he was actually completely and totally unable to control his emotions.   I was lying down and didn’t notice when things got quiet.   I had fallen asleep when a while later he came into the room, very happy and excited.   He woke me up (children always wake sleeping parents up without a second though it would seem) and told me he had made lemonade with dad.   I mumbled something sleepily and he gently put a piece of paper in my hand saying, “this is the recipe, I’ll read it to you when you wake up.”  I found him first thing when I woke up and he told me about the lemonade, saying they’d saved some for me.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter told me the other day, "I explained to Madison what passive aggressive means.”  I couldn’t help but laugh as she told me about how she had shared some of her dinner of SpaghettiOs with Madison, who had never had them and thought they looked good.   She had said, “I sure wish I had some more SpaghettiOs.”