I’m always telling Robbie to share. It seems he’s learned the lesson, although I’m not sure how I feel about his application. Tonight, we went to Markey’s for dinner after leaving the beach. On our way into the parking lot, Robbie reminded us that we usually go for “cream” – as if we’d ever forget.
Robbie lost interest in his baby cone as soon as it got messy and, on the way back to the car, turned his interest to my cone. I gave him a lick and then turned my attention back to eating my own ice cream. Robbie then grabbed my hand, looked me in the eye, and made a move for my cone. And then he said it. Words that will haunt me every time I try to eat my own food. “Share, Mama. Share.”
I’m almost embarrassed to admit where it went from here. We nicely shared the cone for about 100 yards. And then, as we crossed the street, I tried to take it from him. Keep in mind, there were cars stopped in both directions with crowds along the street as I wrestled my son for my ice cream cone. I didn’t want there to be a disaster all over the back of the car. And, more importantly, I really like the cone part and didn’t want to not be able to enjoy it.
All of a sudden, before I even knew what was happening, the cone was out of my hand and flying through the air, only to land in the middle of the road. Completely destroyed. And Robbie looked me in the eye and very sternly said, “Share, Mama.” Lesson learned.