The weather was sunny and hot today and I’ve been busying ferrying the kids around town to various activities to keep them occupied, entertained and cool. Before heading to the library for our weekly round of books I passed out Popsicles to eat in the car and they each had one (red of course) to help beat the heat.
But David (age 2) was eating his Popsicle soooooo slowly and as I was driving down Fireweed Lane I heard this pathetic little squeal start up from the back seat. His Popsicle was melting away before his eyes, literally running in tiny rivers down his chubby white arm into his armpit. He wasn’t appreciating the cold sticky sensation his was feeling so in his panic he held his Popsicle as high and as far away from him as he could.
This strategy had turned out to be a very bad plan because it had only added height to his short arm, speeding up the whole process and causing a great deal of frustration. I saw all of this from my spot behind the wheel but there wasn’t anything I could do to help him and he continued to squeal in sticky irritation while Grace and Spencer watched with their smirky grins.
But the worst was yet to come because his window was down and as the car sped up and hit about 40 mph the abundant Popsicle juice that was now running thickly down his arm began to actually lift off his arm in a serious spray causing even more squealing and angry cries. About the time I finally looked back to see what the squawking was about the red syrup droplets were pelting his fat cheeks and squinting eyes like a fine sea mist.
I found a place to pull over and walked around the car to rescue him. When I opened the door he had red speckles all over the upper third of his body and his spiky hair was stiffening into red little spikes on his screaming head. Cracked me up. But despite his stickiness what made him squeal the loudest was when I pried his rapidly decomposing Popsicle from his iron fist and gobbled the last remnant to get rid of it. He was so angry he’d been deprived of his precious treat that I had to promise him another when we got home and by the time we got to the library he looked like a chubby, grumpy and swollen little chicken pox victim.
Sometimes I miss those days--my life now isn't nearly so entertaining.
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