March 11, 2001

Jo and Mike and Tom and I are at the park, running in circles and falling down, because that's what you do when you're at the park.  Tom has been coyly eyeing the ice cream truck since it drove up and we finally stagger over to get something.

"What do you want, Tom?"

"Ba!" he says.

"Really?"

"Ba!"

"Does that mean 'Fudgecicle'?"

"Eeeee!"

"Fudgecicle it is."

I take the bar from the vendor while Tom placidly passes the time by hopping from foot to foot and reaching up, grunting.  I unwrap the ice cream, hand it down to him and he instantly clamps it into his mouth, fusing his lips to it.

"Mmmf," he says.

It turns out that you're two when you learn that ice cream does that.

 



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