The Ice Cream Man

My son likes cars.  Actually, he isn’t limited to just cars, trucks, trains, and busses also fit his criteria.  It doesn’t matter if they are pink, green, or have polka-dotted flowers on them, if they have wheels (his toy train has wheels) and can be pushed, pulled, or rammed into something he loves them!   

His vehicle of choice is one of those “multi-use” toys.  You know, the kind you can walk behind and push or you can sit on it and scoot yourself around.  It’s white with a blue handle/backrest and a bright red seat, and flashing red lights on top.  At first glance, my husband and I both assumed it was either an ambulance or a police car.  Then, my son pushed a button, and the music began to play.  No… not a siren:  music.  Upon closer inspection, the “G-ride” was not an ambulance; not a police car.  Nope!  It’s an ice cream truck!!  J  Don’t knock it or you might lose a toe!   In the past few months, the ice cream truck, I swear, has logged a hundred thousand miles.  It has been in numerous “accidents” (several involving Mommy’s feet- wasn’t kidding about the toes), has chased away “demons” (our dog is terrified), and has hauled everything from puppy dogs to baby dolls, blocks, puzzles (a piece at a time sometimes), books and blankets!  Yes, the ice cream truck is a well-loved staple in our home.

In the past week, my darling little ruffian has become a true terror with the ice cream truck.  Where he used to be satisfied riding it, or pushing it about, he has now discovered the true, 19-month-old joy to be found in ramming the truck into anything and everything; including people, furniture, and dogs!! 
After my husband’s millionth time of telling G to not chase the dog with the truck, the truck found itself under lock and key; impounded in the hall closet. 

The G-Man was NOT a happy camper about this situation.  But… one major temper tantrum later, he found a slightly smaller 4-wheeled mode of inciting terror (a yellow end loader) and was happy as a clam; wheeling throughout the house but slower & not able to create quite the wake of destruction.   In minutes, the precious Ice Cream Truck was forgotten. 

Hours later, my husband was straightening the house, and opened the hall closet to put away some jackets that has been left in the wrong place (I’m pleading the fifth & blaming the kids).  G looked up as my darling husband opened the closet, saw the truck inside, gasped audibly, paused, looked at his daddy, pointed and said “BEEP-BEEP!“ In great excitement, he flew toward the closet, “BEEP-BEEP!  BEEP-BEEP!”  My husband, seeing that the tiny tyrant was about to get his weapon of mass destruction began to close the closet door.  My son is determined, and tried to wedge himself in the door, “BEEP-BEEP!  BEEP-BEEP!  BEEEEEP-BEEEEEEP!”   My husband finally wrestled the little ox away from the door, where he crumpled in a thoroughly angered mass of flailing limbs (throwing a right proper fit!).  Whew!

When he finished the temper tantrum, Daddy gave hugs and redirected to a different toy; one that does not cause bruised ankles & our old dog to run for cover.  I am happy to say that G-Man is content to play with his other toys, and the Ice Cream Truck is still under lock & key… at least for a few days. J