Ice Cream Truck

Those of you that have followed this blog for five years know, Rojo has a "thing" for the ice cream truck. And by "thing" I don't mean obsession. I don't mean fascination. I don't mean extreme interest verging on perseveration. No, I mean "thing" as in there-is-no-word-in-the-English-language for such long-term preoccupation. That's the kind of "thing," I'm talking about.

He plays ice cream truck songs on his keyboard.

He plays ice cream truck songs on our piano. Loudly. Both hands. Pedals, too. Starts at 6:00 AM and goes (on and off) to 8:00 PM on the weekends and "holidays."

He plays ice cream truck songs on YouTube. His favorite one (I couldn't find it when I looked, because I just knew you'd want to check it out), includes a woman's voice saying (weirdly), "Hellllllll-O!" He replays that one for hours. Hours. Then he goes around the house/yard/neighborhood/grocery store imitating it to perfection for days. Days. Let's go ahead and make that weeks.

He hums/taps/kicks/sings/shouts ice cream truck songs every unmedicated moment of every day between March and October.

Here it is June 1st and we've yet to see our first ice cream truck of the season. I think the 23 days of cold rain in May might have had something to do with it. I think the $4/gallon price of gas may have something to do with it. I think the $1 - $2 ice cream sales that are few and far between are part of the problem.

Never fear, Rojo holds out great hope that the ice cream truck is going to start coming soon, and we are ready. Our money is by the door. We are home each day during probable ice cream truck hours. We have our minds made up and orders selected in our heads. Ready, we are.

In a desperate attempt to take matters into his own hands I've helped him strap on an old thermal lunch bag on to his bike, and we put a freezer pack and a few random popsicles in there and "sell" them to anyone that will "buy" them - people at the park that we know or at least sort of know, neighbors, friends and relatives.

Had another one of my car without brakes dreams this week. Was telling Kathleen about it on our walk, "That's an out-of-control dream," she said.

"Right, but the thing is, I don't feel that way," I answered. Then she proceeded to point out all the big transitions right around the corner, and while I might not be conscious of feeling out of control, I certainly AM out of control, just like everyone else. I'm not in control over how Rojo does in his new high school, despite the measures taken (by me and by the much larger community) to ensure his success and well-being. I'm not in control over Woohoo's SAT scores, finals, college applications, acceptances or final decision.

I'm not in control over much, as it turns out, but I can be in full control over whether or not I choose to let the ice cream truck "thing" be a problem or not. I choose not.