My dad taught us a song when we were young.
He made us sing it every summer night.
He was such a slave driver.
He made us sing it every summer night.
He was such a slave driver.
It went a little something like this...
I
scream!
You
scream!
We
all
scream
for
Ice Cream!
Every night, on the way home from the pool, my brothers and I belted out this tune in hopes for some frozen sugary goodness. Dad always delivered in case you were wondering.
When the kids and I were home, Pop taught my kids the very same song, and had the very same rules, and always delivered.
My kids were smitten with the process.
When we got home, we continued the tradition.
This particular night, the kids made it their goal to sing loud enough so Pop could hear them in Texas.
I think he heard them.
After all, he is super-Pop.
Even if he didn't hear them,
they felt the love of one of my favorite childhood traditions.
And isn't ice cream really about love anyway?
3 comments:
Love this, Lisa!! You never know the memories you are creating with your kids until they are old enough to share them with you. That is the reward of parenting.
I'm with Pop. Let's scream for ice cream, Yeah!
That's precious! I love the belly shots!
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