Monday, June 9, 2014

Megan's Hard Life

When Megan was a very young child, we lived on a fairly main road. As such, a frequent summer sight and sound was the ice cream truck. As first children's luck would have it, I was more than willing to splurge for an over-priced ice cream treat.

Except we had a slight problem. 

Whenever the ice cream truck's music was heard in the background. Megan would begin to scream hysterically and run to my arms for safety. It didn't matter if she was out front in the yard, or safely inside a locked house. Megan feared the ice cream truck.

Fast forward 10-12 years... We live in a cul-de-sac in a somewhat quiet neighborhood, and I can't say as we hear (let alone see) an ice cream truck very often.

Until tonight. Just as dinner dishes were being cleared, my almost SIXTEEN year old daughter became hysterically EXCITED that she could hear the ice cream truck. A couple of the younger siblings were anxiously and anticipatingly looking on at her excitement, when a look of sheer dismay came upon their faces when I announced, "Oh dear. The ice cream truck only plays music when it is out of ice cream." I had them for mere seconds, until Megan turned to me with a look on her face and asked facetiously, "Are you really going to ruin their childhood?"

With that comment, and my general motherhood motto that you all know (enjoy the little things in life for one day you'll look back and realize they were the big things),  I ignored my strong feelings about the high prices of an ice cream truck's offerings, I bit my lip from announcing aloud my firm belief/stereotype/judgement that most ice cream truck drivers are child predators, and handed Megan a $20 bill. She ran out the front door, with three younger siblings trailing her out of the cul-de-sac.

Minutes later, they returned home empty-handed and Megan gathered two of the three siblings for the following selfie:

She then posted the photo with the following caption on Instagram...

My mom should win "mother of the year award"... Me and my siblings were sitting outside when we heard an ice cream truck, so naturally we ran inside to ask her for money. Being the loving, caring, giving mother that she is, she told my younger siblings that the ice cream truck ONLY PLAYED MUSIC WHEN IT WAS OUT OF ICE CREAM!! Really Mom?! Are you trying to ruin their childhood? When I finally talked her into letting us go, the ice cream truck had passed and was too far to chase down. Thanks Mom. We love you too. Now our evening is as dull as this picture. (I don't know what is more sad: that my mom said it only plays music when out of ice cream or that my siblings believed her. #iliveatroubledlife #mysiblingsdotoo

Despite her Instagram post being slightly longer than a typical Instagram post, her friends seemed to like it and I did too!! So much so, that I decided to repost her picture and put it on my own Instagram feed. We laughed about the event all evening. 

Well, I did. Megan not so much. She had been so excited about introducing her siblings to the ice cream truck experience, that she harbored a few ill feelings towards me and my slowness to grant permission that resulted in the near-miss of the whole experience.

When we all settled in for the evening (after sharing store-bought ice cream on the front lawn with our neighbors I might add), I handed Mike my phone to look at the Instagram post. I knew he'd appreciate it especially as Megan's younger years ice-cream-truck-hysteria is a fond memory of ours. It was all fine and dandy as Mike read through the post. He laughed. He chuckled. He made a few comments and then all of a sudden he gasped. Handed me the phone and announced, "You have to edit that right now!" One of Megan's very innocent hashtags, turned out to be not really very innocent.

Unfortunately, Instagram doesn't have an edit feature, and (un)fortunately, Megan learned a new vocabulary word tonight. Megan and I each hit the delete button on our phones tonight with a little bit of disappointment of such an innocent, silly, mistake that we didn't want published on the world wide web. (Not without copying it out onto this blogpost first though!)

Note: I changed the wording of the hashtag written above to essentially say the same thing, just in a better way...

Megan has now gone to bed tonight feeling down, because not only did she get no ice cream from the ice cream truck, but then she had to delete the post that she was using as therapy to work out her ice cream truck/motherhood issues, and she was feeling mildly scarred about the brief educational moment she had with her parents. 

Just as Megan said goodnight to me for the last time she reminded me of the time we were in Washington DC and I splurged and bought her, Luke and me an over-priced ice cream from a nearby ice cream truck. She chose a silly Spongebob Squarepants ice cream, and within seconds of her first taste, it landed face first onto the sweltering DC street. She didn't laugh as we watched Spongebob Squarepants melt into a pool of yellow on the hot asphalt road. I choose to remember the experience being that Luke and I didn't laugh either, but instead had absolute sympathy for her distress.

I might add, when Megan emailed me the above photo so I could include it in this post, she titled the email: "ice cream trucks continue to ruin my life."

Poor Megan. 
She obviously has ice cream issues.
I'm hoping there is therapy for that.


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