We All Scream. . .

Plenty of screaming goes on here. Some of it is to protest the inevitable bedtime or the required consumption of vegetables. And some of it accompanies a rousing game of "alien" the boys play with a neighborhood friend, where they save the world from imaginary outer space evildoers. But mostly, when we scream, we scream for ice cream.

Ice cream is a natural accompaniment to shore living. I can think of no better ending to a hot day on the beach than a long, slow walk to our favorite corner store for a scoop or two of a cold, icy treat. The kids agree and an ice cream trip has become a much requested--and much obliged--evening family outing.

At first, we strolled south towards Kessel's Korner, a favorite of the Buchholz family since Craig vacationed in Ocean City. Family lore has it that he would sneak home from the beach early only to treat himself to an ice cream cone at the counter--and then again when the rest of the family would head to Kessel's for dessert the same day. The Kessel's takeout window has a few things going for it. They serve Breyer's ice cream. Flavors are the usual suspects--vanilla, chocolate, strawberry--sprinkle in a cookies and cream, maybe a Moose Tracks. Kessel's has quite the popsicle collection as well, namely the Spongebob and, Carter's favorite, the "Two Ball Screw Ball." (It's funny to hear him say it--he can't say the "r" sound--so I typically ask him a few times what he wants to order, and then ask him to order it himself.) And sometimes, we're satisfied with a popsicle or two or a scoop of 'scream on a cone. But, most of all, we're a fan of the Kessel's ice cream drinks. The boys can hardly ever pass up a Kessel's milkshake. I'm a chocolate ice cream soda fan myself. It is hard to find an ice cream soda on the menu, and even harder to find someone who knows how to make one.

A few weeks ago, instead of our southbound trip, we headed north and found ourselves at Aunt Betty's Ice Cream, kin to the infamous Uncle Bill's Pancakes, on 21st and Asbury. We've been to the Blitz's Market tons of times over the summer, and even though Aunt Betty's is right next door, we'd never realized that another ice cream store was so very close.

Our trips to Aunt Betty's are done partly on foot and party on wheels. I go on foot, of course, pushing Charlotte in the stroller. The boys go on bike. Will rides ahead as I continue to give Carter guidance on riding his two-wheeler. He needs reminders that his shoes are not brakes. To stop when he gets to the street. But not to stop so far away from the corner that he can't see from side to side. To pedal. To watch where he's going. To pedal and watch where he's going. To watch where he's going and to pedal. By the time we get to Aunt Betty's, I have earned my ice cream cone.

While Kessel's is a quaint family restaurant, Aunt Betty's is just for ice cream treats. It is a narrow, little store with a nice, covered outside seating area. The boys particularly like their selection of ice creams, with Birthday Cake and Crazy Vanilla as perennial favorites. Will has never liked chocolate, so these two flavors are right up his alley. His partner in crime, Carter, has decided that he does not like chocolate now either. We don't call them the Even Steven Brothers for nothing. They bond over the fluorescent colors of their desserts, unabashedly trading licks.

Charlotte is too little to eat an ice cream cone on her own. I'm sure she wouldn't mind helping herself, actually, but it would make a sticky mess. So for now, while the boys each pick out their own treat, she has been content to share one with me. I'm not a vanilla fan myself, so we typically share a cone of strawberry, my preferred summertime flavor. I always order mine on top of a sugar cone, savoring the crunchy treat to the last bite. Up for a change, on our last trip, I changed my selection to Mint Chocolate Chip.

Given my new flavor, Charlotte has switched allegiances and now turns to her brothers to share. I'm not sure if it is that she doesn't like the mint flavor or that what the boys have seems much more appealing. She opens her little beak wide, protesting loudly if no one shares. She, too, now is a fan of Birthday Cake and Crazy Vanilla. And vanilla milkshakes. And rootbeer (pronounced "rootbeard" in our house) floats. She shakes her head and wags her finger at offers of spoonfuls of my ice cream. "No, no, no," she says, while extending her hand towards the boys, opening and closing it in a frenetic motion for more. And when they don't respond quickly enough for her liking, she screams. She screams for ice cream. . just like I scream, you scream and we all scream for ice cream.