Ice Cream

I'm a mean dad. But it's no match for a smart daughter.

I never buy my kids anything from the ice cream truck. My standby excuse is, "I didn't bring my wallet" or simply, "We don't have enough money."

Last night, I told the kids I would take them to the park to play soccer. As usual, after we got all of the kids loaded into the van (always an extraordinary task), Paige suddenly "remembered" that she had forgotten something in the house. When she came back, she had her purse with her.

"I'm bringing my purse in case we see the ice cream man because we always forget to bring our money."

"Good idea," I said, though I doubted that the ice cream man would still be wandering around at 8 o'clock at night at the end of September.

I was wrong.

We'd only been at the park for a few minutes when a stirring instrumental version of Rockabye Baby came blaring out of the little ice cream truck. Paige bolted. And when the ice cream man didn't slow down, she ran. And ran. About 300 hundred yards later, she caught up to him.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaad! Come on!!!"

I  finally caught up. We shelled out $3 for two little ice cream sandwiches.

Paige couldn't have been more pleased.

She'd outsmarted me. Once again.

The face of victory

Sharing in the spoils

Just happy to be part of the team