Ice cream and trampoline.

Ice cream and trampoline.

It’s been a pretty good roller coaster ride in our house the past couple of days. Big, big peaks, and some swooping valleys, but it’s all been for really great things. Our baby is potty training (which seems to be a theme among my momma friends this week, by the way), and he has been so very proud of himself that it’s thrown him into tears a couple of times. Not of frustration, mind you, but tears of absolute, big-boy-pants-wearing joy. He doesn’t even need the potty dance that his older brother and I used to perform, one which left us both panting for breath and in fits of giggles on the floor after every bathroom run. He just beams proudly and says simply, but firmly, “I did it!” and smiles that cheesy top-teeth-to-bottom-teeth grin of his.

He doesn’t even need any bribery or rewards. His biggest reward is getting to wear underwear. And thanks to a good friend of mine, he has an array of them adorned with dinosaurs, crocodiles, puppies, stripes, street signs, hockey sticks, race cars, and even some Halloween-themed underpants. He holds them up as his most treasured prizes, bursting with an insane amount of just pure awesomeness.

His older brother, however, was insistent about giving him an ice cream treat as a reward for a successful day two. As with all frozen treats, I delivered the orders to move outside for any consumption.

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But strange things happened. During a warm spell sandwiched between a couple of afternoon storms, and while someone else yahoo’d and yippee’d on the trampoline,

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Tramp jump

Things began to go a little awry.

20110710 0710 Ice cream 4 2Woops

The darned hunk of ice cream slipped right off of its stick. And I held my breath, as I always do, to see what he would do next.

Oh man, but did he study his situation for a minute. He poked at it, dug around a little, then repositioned.

Dropped

Bite

That seemed to work, so he got a little more aggressive with the scooping.

Drop 2

Rats. Dropped it again.

Drop 3

And again.

Now. Before you get all grossed that he’s eating off of the deck, know this.

He’s totally eating off of the deck.

Oh come on. It was just rinsed off with rain water about 30 minutes prior. Besides. It’s not like when Hank used to ride his bike as fast as he could behind those trucks that sprayed poisonous mosquito spray out of the back so that he could stay in the foggy cloud as long as possible. Nor is it like my niece, who used to hide roly polies in her mouth. Or even like my neighbor’s boy, who’s eaten about 5,000 tons of sand in his first three years of life, yet miraculously never got impacted. (That one’s still a mystery to me..)

Oh wait. Maybe it is.

Meh. At least I didn’t show you the picture of him on his belly licking the deck clean.

But only because that picture didn’t turn out. It was too overexposed. What can I say? I’m an amateur.

Here’s the final path of the ice cream.

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Oh and look. You can also see where he drew on himself with a ballpoint pen.

It’s probably a map to where I hide the ice cream. Dangit.

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