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

Busted, Mr. Camera Shy

At some point in his life, Curtis is going to ask us why there are no photos of his third and fourth year of life. We will then explain to him that he did everything in his power to avoid having his picture taken. And then he'll see that the pictures that do exist show an ornery little boy who would never give his parents the satisfaction of even a little smile.

That's why this picture is such a gem.

Curtis took it himself, with the phone that he stole from me. And though you can't see his mouth, his eyes give him away. He's smiling

A Visit to Utah's Hat

I have always wanted to leave Utah and have some grand adventure in New York or Boston or Amsterdam or wherever. But with no master's degree or job transfer or anything else pulling us away, it seems crazy to leave all of the good stuff that we've got here--the cousins and grandmas and Chuck a Ramas.

I have never had big dreams of moving to Idaho (or Utah's hat, as I like to call it), but my work just opened an office in Boise. I haven't been asked to transfer there or anything, but I can't help but wonder if it might be an excuse to pack up and strike out on our own.

Laste week, I spent 48 glorious hours in the state, driving back and forth between Boise and Twin Falls. I was hoping to fall in love. To find a city that had just been waiting for me.

Nope.

Boise was kind of just a smaller Salt Lake, with fewer mountains and trees (and if you take away those two things, what do you have left? They did, however, have a Chuck a Rama.). 

So I guess we'll just stick around here.

--

This wonderful tune by Built to Spill has been stuck in my head since last week.