The Parent Trap

What is the first sign of hope after a long, cold winter that warmer weather and sunny skies are on the way? Well, for the eight years we've lived here it's been the same. Usually late in March, on the evening of a day that's been nice enough to infect you with a touch of spring fever, you will hear it. Faintly at first, then loud enough to know you really heard it and aren't just imagining it, then closer and closer until even the kids hear it and everyone shouts in joy and unison..."Mr. Softee!"
For the uninitiated, Mr. Softee is the ice cream truck. But not the kind that just sells overpriced novelty treats you can buy in the grocery store. No, Mr. Softee is different. He has a soft serve machine in the truck and sells cones, sundaes, and shakes. I don't know why we get so excited; we almost never buy anything from him. If I were to count the number of times we have, I wouldn't need to borrow anyone's fingers or toes to do it. But last night, I guess I was feeling benevolent. Maybe I was swayed by how they ate their roasted broccoli, with most of the complaining being confined to the size of the pieces. Maybe it was the serendipitousness of how the siren song sounded just as they had finished asking for ice cream, thinking only of what was in the freezer and not of what was around the corner.
Whatever the reason, I gave in. I said, "Let's get Mr. Softee." Yay, they cried. Then the wait. The interminable wait as he was audible but not yet visible; the torment of being sent to play in the back yard while Mom stands vigil on the porch. Then, the magical moment his truck comes into view and the tangible anticipation as he moves closer, closer, and slides to a stop.
I admit that I enjoyed watching them share their cone, savoring every bite and every second of the experience. When Son #2 had nothing but the point of the cone left I said "Eat it." No, he said. He wanted to save it, so he could always remember the day he got Mr. Softee. I convinced him to eat it and we would memorialize the day on the calendar instead. Hearing him say that touched me in a way I hadn't expected. I thought, do I not do things like this enough? Should I get them Mr. Softee more often? And there it was--I was caught in the trap. You know, the one that snares you as a parent and tells you to indulge your children in the things they like, that more is more and that too much is never enough. I quickly freed myself as I remembered that exactly what made this day so special was that it doesn't happen very often. By only getting Mr. Softee every year or two, I had preserved it as something to treasure, and I'm glad. I'm sure I'll get caught in the trap again, but hopefully I will also remember The Day We Got Mr. Softee and be able to free myself once more.