Ice Cream fiasco

Lucas was having a great night. He was very happy to see me when I picked him up at daycare, and he laughed and joked all the way home in the Chariot. (At one point two ladies on the sidewalk said "hello" to him, and after we were past them he said "HELLO!" in a silly voice to me as if to imitate them. He also exclaimed, "feels nice!" when it started to sprinkle a little bit on us.)

He was also a very good boy at dinner. He helped me set the table, placing a fork and a knife at each person's place at the table ("For mama...for dada...for Lucas!"). He ate his delicious fancy BLT that mama made with farmer's market produce, Zing sandwich bread, and high-grade applewood-smoked bacon from the butcher. He also ate nearly an entire huge ear of corn.

It was still early and he was doing great so we announced that we'd make a trip to Washtenaw Dairy for some ice cream. He was very excited.

We had a good trip down and he chose chocolate ice cream (pictured). He ate it like a big boy, but then the trouble started.

He didn't want to have his hands and face washed; he wanted a donut in addition to his ice cream; he wanted to run down the sidewalk by himself across the busy driveways; and he didn't want to get in the chariot. "Not ready yet!"

We finally got home and, after the distraction of running into a daycare friend, tried to change his dirty diaper, which was a big fight. Then he refused to get in the shower; and shortly thereafter he refused to get out. Jammies were another battle.

The moral of this story is that sugar and almost-bedtime don't mix.