She hands me the plastic cone topped high with every scoop that came in the box. A smorgasbord of imaginary ice cream flavors steadily teetering on top of the oh-so-real-I-actually-want-to-eat-it cone.
"Do you love your ice cream, Mommy?" she asks. Her cheeks are so pink and chubby. The smile on her face so bright it burns in my chest and I actually see the day she leaves me flash before my eyes.
"I do. Ice cream is my favorite."
"Me too. What is your favorite flavor?" she asks. I can tell by the inflection that there is one she wants me to pick. What is your FAVORITE flavor?
"Remind me what the flavors are."
"Oh, oh-kay. Okay mom." She stares hard at the rainbow tower of goodness and I witness her brilliant mind at work. "Vanilla, green bean, blueberry, co-pilot, chocolate, banana, oranges and cherry." She stands with hands on hips, her hair a wild mess of curls around an angelic face, those dancing eyes.
"What was that pink flavor again?"
"Co-pilot." flabbergasted to have to repeat it.
"Right. What does that one taste like?"
"Uuum, you know...Its like it tastes like co-pilot and its really yummy. Its like co-pilot." Duh, how dumb can my mom be?
"I think that is the one I love the most."
"I knew you would pick that one. I made that one just for you."
She turns to her 1950's pink kitchen set. I can see now that the back of her apron is tucked into her underwear. She begins to fry some bacon while carefully checking that the cookies are not burning in the oven. She is humming Jingle Bells, despite the fact that it is August. Without turning around she says, "Mommy, you cannot have any treats tomorrow because ice cream is a special treat today. We have to eat healthy tomorrow."
