Ice Cream for Lunch

"okay guys, come for lunch," Steve called throughout the house.  We had all worked and played too long this afternoon, so lunch was on the table at 2 -- if we didn't eat now, it would ruin dinnertime.

at last, they were all at the table.  heads bowed.  arms folded.  ready to give thanks and bless the food Steve had prepared and was already dished out on plates.

and just as the prayer was about to begin:

I interrupted EVERYTHING and said, "WAIT!  I HEAR THE ICE CREAM TRUCK!"

 Me, yes me.  I did it...I did what every parent would admonish a three-year-old NOT to do!

We leapt up from the table.  No prayer was said as left our plates and we fled outside to greet the truck.

 Now, you must understand:  as Carter perfected and polished the Music Box Dancer song for his piano recital, his motivation and treat was to buy ice cream from that ice cream truck once it came around playing its tune.  Problem was, it was only coming by on Sunday...

So when it came by on a Wednesday afternoon, we literally LEPT at the chance.

And there our lunch sat.  On our plates.  Forsaken.

On the day we had ice cream for lunch.