You made sure your child never counted what was left.
Apparently Tyler had been counting something else.
You made sure your child never counted what was left.
***
Officer Bruce broke the silence.
“Tyler, why was the ice cream such a big deal today?”
My son shrugged.
“Because there’s still some.”
I looked toward the freezer.
“Some what?”
“Ice cream.”
“I know there’s ice cream.”
“Because there’s still some.”
“You keep saying we have to save it.”
“For Friday,” I said.
“But then Friday comes and you don’t eat it, Mom.”
His voice sharpened again, frustration returning because apparently seven-year-old vulnerability had a strict time limit.
“So I wanted some now.”
“You keep saying we have to save it.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“You called the police because you wanted extra dessert?”
“Yes.”
Officer Bruce raised one eyebrow.
Tyler stared at his toes.
“I was mad.” Then he looked at me. “But I don’t like when you don’t have any.”
