Thursday, May 17, 2012

I scream, you scream, we all scream for Yonanas!

I'm not very politically active, but I'm ready to start a petition.  Ot a protest.  Or something.  If it were a protest, my children would wear t-shirts that say, "We Don't Carry Cash!" and our signs would read Keep Going! on one side and Don't Slow Down! on the other side.

This is aimed at the ice cream man.  And I'm sorry, I know he is doing his job.  But does his job have to include an absolute 1 1/2 mile per hour crawl around my court?  And, does his job have to include making deliberate eye contact with my children through our living room window?!  I think that crosses the line.

"The ice cream truck is coming!  I can hear it!  The ice cream man is in our court!" they scream with hysteria.

"We are having Yonanas for dessert," I nearly scream back with misdirected frustration that I am feeling towards this ice cream man because I really am wondering if he has come to a complete stop in front of my house and that intent gaze upon us through my window is a bit unnerving. 

He has finally left and Tulip says, "Did you know that a snow cone is actually ice with fruit flavored juice on it?!"

"Uh huh," I murmur.

"Well did you forget that I've never tried one?!" she asks with indignation.

Again, I nearly scream, "We.  Are.  Having.  Yonanas!  For.  Dessert."

My logic of, "We are not going to buy expensive sugary popsicles now because in approximately 1 hour and 15 minutes we will be making pure home-made fruit smoothies, i.e. Yonanas, for dessert..." is lost on them.  I may as well say, "No snow cones because that wall is green."

The kids play in the back yard after dinner.  They are wonderful children.  And they are smart.  And they need to remind us that they have not had neither snow cones nor Yonanas...yet.

Luna is crying.  She accidentally got hit in the head with the child-size picnic table umbrella.  I help fix the problem, then go back inside.

Tulip starts crying.  She accidentally got hit in the head with a plastic baseball bat.

Seriously?  They are going to hit themselves with objects until we serve the Yonanas?

So, when I come to your door with my petition, understand that I am not actually trying to put the ice cream man out of work.  I am trying to save myself a trip to the emergency room because as fate would have it, if that were to happen, I'd be stuck in traffic behind the ice cream man driving 1 1/2 miles per hour.

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