Welcome to Parenthood: Ice Cream Dreams

Visions of mint chocolate chip dance in his head...
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My morning began with a three-year-old boy addressing me from the side of my bed.

“Daddy,” he said. “I had a dream.”

This is pretty standard stuff these days: Kyle marches into our bedroom in the morning to tell us about his dreams of the previous night.

“You were there,” Kyle said, “and mommy was there.”

Nothing at all unusual about that; most of his dreams feature Laura and I.

“And I had ice cream,” he said.

Ah, there’s the wish-fulfillment aspect. Kyle had been denied ice cream twice yesterday: once because he had just eaten a popsicle and a second time because he wouldn’t eat his dinner.

“And Uncle Miller took my ice cream away.”

That’s harsh, Miller. Harsh.