I Scream

I have a new favorite ice cream flavor: Burnt Caramel.

Sounds a bit weird, I know, but it is so, so good.

On Friday evening, I took the kids into town to meet up with Daddy and go to an alumni event at his alma mater. This was a very specific alumni event - it was for alums of his now defunct major (or, more appropriately for this institution, "course" - and yes, it is obscure enough to no longer warrant it's own department) only. It was at a boathouse on the river and included sailing.

We ate some barbecue and cornbread, saw some people we knew from years back, looked for familiar names on plaques on the walls, and enjoyed the late summer evening. We could not get S out onto a boat, even though she was happy to wear her Lego life-jacket around. The three boys, however, enjoyed an excursion on a Rhodes 19. They looked good out there.

After the event, we went for ice cream. We'd first mentioned ice cream in hope of bribing S onto the boat, and once the words were said, it had to happen regardless. So off we set, we in our flip flops, S in her stroller (thankfully, I'd remembered to bring it), and two already tired boys in Croc knock-offs. Note the footwear.

There used to be a branch of the ice cream shop we had in mind a short walk away at the Student Center. Not anymore, and we found that out the hard way. The main shop was a few blocks up, and I hesitated as my husband said, "Let's just do it." I figured we'd be better off walking back to the car and driving up, by my husband convinced me there would be no possibility to park nearby and, besides, it's a very short walk.

Except when three kids are involved.

The walk was a few blocks further than we remembered. Of course, the last time we walked it was, what, eighteen or twenty years ago? M complained that his legs hurt, C grunted frequently, and S was tired and whiny.

Finally we arrived - and there was a parking space right out front, of course. We chose our flavors. Cookie Doh! for S, Cocoa Pudding for C, Belgian Chocolate for M, Kulfee for my husband, and Burnt Caramel for me.

It was so good.

So. Good.

We took our time eating our ice cream (and sharing tastes of one another's choices) - both savoring the flavor and dreading the (long) walk back to the car. Finally, though we had to do it.

The walk back to the car seemed to take forever. In reality it was maybe 25 minutes. More moans and whining ensued. It was already technically after bedtime and we had to drive home to the outer suburbs. Every few minutes, though, one of us would mention our ice cream again. The perfect texture, the completeness and sometimes subtlety of the flavors.

Everyone's feet were a bit sore by the time we reached the car, but we all agreed it was worth it. Next time, though, I'm taking the car.