You and your silly music

Dear Mr Ice Cream Man,

While working upstairs in my office yesterday, I heard you and your ice cream truck coming down the street. Listening to your whimsical music, I got chills and started having flashback of last summer. You see, Mr Ice Cream Man, you seem to visit my house everyday at a real inconvient time for me and my family. Yes, I know that most families don't eat at 5pm, my dear husband reminds me of this on a daily basis and makes jokes that I'm already an AARP member. Most children live just to see you coming down the street. Most children are thrilled to be running down the street with dollars cluched in their tiny hands trying to get your attention. Not around here, Mr Ice Cream Man, not around here. You see, your presence is pure torture. Not just for me, but for my children. Everyday when I'm trying to tempt my children into eating their deliciously prepared meal (sometimes even all 5 food groups are present) you come by with your silly music offering sugar, treats and sweets. Just how am I supposed to compete?

I have an ear for your tempting music. I have so much as ran to the front screen door to quickly close the front door so that my children won't hear your music. My husband and I have even known just when to start speaking extremely loud at the dinner to table to mask your presence. You really made dinner time miserable all last summer. If for one minute you could see what torture you bring versus pleasure, I'm sure you would understand. Yes, if for one minute it was you watching my children pressed to the front screen door, lungs full of air, screaming for you to "stop", all the while their tiny hands were fumbling for the lock, desperately trying to free themselves, you would be crushed. Your heart would break at the site of little fists banging on the door. You would feel awful to witness the desperation as my children realize you're getting farther away from them, before they could make a quick get away. And then the lonely pathetic tear, streaming down the sad face. Yes, Mr. Ice Cream Man, if it were up to you to wipe that little tear, you may understand.

It's not all your fault. The children were actually convinced at one time that you were nothing more than a "Choo Choo". They actually believed it was your job to drive through the neighborhood spreading music. There was no knowledge of your sugary treats, which by the way, you sell at a 200% mark-up. Yes, Mr Ice Cream Man, it was those pesky grandparents, that had the wonderful idea of stopping you and handing you an outragous amount of cash for a sugary, unhealthy treat. As someone who prides themselves on having "bright" children, it didn't take but that one instance for my children to know that they could count on you for much more than just your music.

If you truely want to provide a "treat", maybe try coming by once a week. Feel free to move onto another neighborhood. I'm sure there are plenty of mothers who find themselves scratching their rumps, staring into empty pantries and refrigerators, while trying to find something to feed their families at exactly the same time you make your presence and for them it's like being rescued. With a few dollars out of their wallets it's, "big sticks", "pop rocks" and ice cream sandwiches to the rescue.

Please be easy on us this summer.