Today when Evie went down for her nap, we decided to take advantage of being up two to one and start painting the master bedroom. Well, we changed into our painting clothes & got everything ready, which included opening the windows. Emmit was sitting in the chair watching TV, and he heard the stupid ice cream truck. UGH!
Well, you know how sounds are. It's hard to tell exactly where ye ol' ice cream man was, so we muted the TV to try to hear a bit better. It sounded like he was further out, so I decided to send Emmit in his room to look out the window. Well, wouldn't you know it...the damn ice cream truck was right at the end of the driveway.
So, we grab some money & run out the door, not even thinking about what we look like. And Mr. Smokes-Three-Packs-A-Day Driver drives off, and Emmit turns on the tears. Fabulous.
So, I think to myself, "Self, you have two choices...a) go inside & listen to him cry or b) run down the road, flailing arms like a mad woman & get the boy some ice cream.
I chose "b".
I swooped up the kid as he was shoeless, and we start jogging down the road. Yes, Suzi can run! Of course, I'm carrying an extra 42 lbs and I'm yelling at a complete stranger to "PLEASE TELL THAT ICE CREAM GUY TO WAIT".
Thankfully "stranger at stop sign" listened and ice cream man waited. Emmit was able to get his ice cream sandwich (which, BTW is a freakin' rip-off at $1.95, but that's a whole 'nother blog).
So, as I look at my satisfied little customer, I feel like such a great Mommy.
And then I feel the lime green painter's tape bracelet around my wrist & remember my outfit. A paint-splashed Jeff Davis Bank t-shirt (I don't think I've ever had an account there), Army-issue camo pants cutoff to capri length (also paint-splashed, complete with a few tape scraps stuck to the legs), and my ratty tennis shoes. Oh, and my hair pulled back in a Mommy tail.
Nice way to get to know the neighbors.
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