You scream, I scream

Our house is planted dangerously close to the cutest outdoor ice cream stand. It's the kind of ice cream stand that has been around forever and ever and is only open in the summer and has the world's best swirl ice cream dipped in sprinkles. It's tradition for anyone in my town to frequent this little joint all summer long and everyone who's anyone knows plenty of people who have worked here and have scored their fair share of free ice cream (I mean, no. Never.)

But so. This little ice cream stand is within walking distance of our house. We find ourselves on plenty of evening walks in the summer and mysteriously end up at the little brick building with ice cream cones in our hands.

We decided that it was time to get Maddox his very own ice cream cone; like, you know, the first cone of his own that he could really smash his face into. They sell actual baby cones for a dollar and they're the cutest thing ever. So, we got one for Maddox, vanilla, and hustled back to our park where I could take pictures of my little nugget and his very first ice cream cone. It was a giant mess and so, so sticky and I had my fancy camera out and Maddox just wanted to smash his ice cream into my camera. And of course he ate all of his (or what didn't drip on the ground anyway) and then most of mine because mine was better because it was chocolate AND sprinkles.

It's probably a good thing summer is only a few short months because someone in this house (ahem, me) has no self control when it comes to ice cream and if it were up to me, I'd be there for breakfast, lunch and dinner.