On Friday night, Clay, hubs and I were playing in the back yard when we heard a noise. A noise that sounded suspiciously like an ice cream truck. Now, I've barely heard (or seen) an ice cream truck since I was a kid. They used to tour the neighborhood I grew up in every night. We'd all be playing outside, hear the faint jangly music, then scatter like leaves in the wind back to our own houses. We'd tear through the door shouting, "A dollar!! A dollar!!! I NEED A DOLLAR!!!" We'd rifle through the couch cushions or our piggy banks or mom's purse until we found the required sum, then dash back out the door to catch the pied piper of sweet, icy goodness.
Ice cream trucks don't come to the neighborhood we live in now. I've never seen one. So when we heard that siren song of frosty treats, I almost didn't believe it. Just in case, we grabbed some cash and headed out the front door. And there it was. A beat-up old van with "Ice Cream Truck" written clearly across the front, blaring its tinkly song, complete with a menu painted on the side.
Clay chose his very first ice cream truck treat, a Bugs Bunny pop. Hubs got a chocolate covered icea cream bar, and I had a yummy ice cream sandwich. By the time Clay got to the end of his treat, we'd put it in a bowl and given him a spoon, but he really did enjoy every bite!