I Screamed After Eating It!!!

All I remember is that I was woken up in hushed whispers, told to wash my face, brush my teeth and go into the kitchen and eat breakfast.

Still squinting with confusion, the early morning Summer sun streaked the small, kitchen table as I sat down searching for my Flintstone vitamin which was usually neatly stashed between my Tupperware cup filled with juice and my bowl filled with Fruit Loops.

But back then when I was little, my peripheral vision was still entact, so I saw the my blue suitcase leaning against the utility room door.

Only as a full grown adult did I realize the proper name for that room is a mud room.

Nevertheless, I was in grade school, I was woken up super early, and my blue suitcase was by the back door. My poor little young mind started to panic. Was my Mommy,in fact tired of my whining , and finally getting rid of me?

Mom either felt my angst or read my mind, because in her usual flustered and hurried tone she said, “I was hopin to surprise you, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. You’re goin camping with the neighbors.”

I don’t recall much after that, but I do remember not wanting to go. Even in elementary school the thought of sleeping outside in the elements was something I thought I was supposed to go to college to avoid doing. I had no idea people actually chose to sleep outside for enjoyment.

It did not sound enjoyable, and I did not want to go. My little face started to get red, and I believe I started to cry a little bit.

Crying was an annoyance to my mother. It was considered a sign of weakness that made your eyes red and puffy.I was told to “knock it off, because they’re taking their ice cream maker and homemade ice cream is good, you’ll like it.”

I stopped crying, but I was confused because I wasn’t yet in the higher grade in elementary school that took you to the Dairy Farm for the field trip. Nothing like taking a bunch of children on a school bus into a stinky building to stare at rows of cows with tubes attached to their udders.

The cows did not look happy and neither were my classmates. After a while of trying not to breathe in the scent of manure, we were instructed to follow the yellow painted footsteps that peeked throughout the hay strewn concrete floor into a break area.

Even as a small child, I could discern the tablecloths put on the metal tables were an afterthought. There were about four little tables with five silver dishes. In each dish was one scoop of vanilla ice cream.

But it was the highlight of the trip and for a little while, the tiny break room turned makeshift ice cream parlor was filled with the melodic sounds of metal spoons chiming against metal dishes.

Fast forward to how I was just told that I was gonna have to go play outside while the neighbor made ice cream , again outside. Again not sounding the least bit appealing to me.

Then my childhood angst showed all over my face when from out of the neighbor’s tent came this contraption…

For the record, what’s pictured above is an old fashioned ice cream maker. That particular maker is actually attractive cuz what I saw the neighbor drag out of his tent I wouldn’t keep worms in let alone make food in.

When the father saw the obvious disdain on my face in response to the contraption he apparently took a lot of pride in, I believe he told me to go swimming in the lake with his daughter and by the time we were done the ice cream would be finished.

His daughter and I let the sun sink into the lake before we made our waterlogged selves back to camp. We were hot, we were exhausted and we were ready for ice cream.

What we were handed looked like lumpy milk in a bowl.

Then the mother had the nerve to open a can of Hershey’s syrup , spoon out a glob of it and plop it into my lumpy milk in a wooden bowl.

That was also the day I found out one uses salt to make homemade ice cream and that I could hear my screams under water.