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.

Simple but Extraordinary

To my friends who jaunt off to distant locales and tropical islands for their vacations, to those who have been around the world twice, to those who rack up frequent flyer miles for their next reprieve, I have a hard time describing life here in Ocean City.

Nothing fancy here. If we wear shoes at all, they are flip flops. Bathing suits all day, followed by a comfy pair of fluffy sweat pants in the cool evenings. We rarely eat out, save for a morning walk to Dot's on Asbury for some donuts or butter cake or an evening trip to Kessel's Korner, also on Asbury, for ice cream sundaes or, the boys' favorite, "crybaby" water ice--a sweet and sour concoction that makes me cringe!

Yesterday was cool and windy here. The water was warm enough to swim, but the wind kicked up sand and made it hard to enjoy, except for the wind surfers, who entertained us by letting the winds fill their kites and carry them down the shore line. I called the kids in earlier than usual, and on our walk home, I wondered how I would entertain them for the afternoon.

After a shower and a snack, they headed outside and were joined by their friends next door. Soon, the air was filled with the joyful sounds of children laughing. Is there a better sound? No television, no video games, no toys. They had the time of their lives with an old phone book, some sidewalk chalk and a plastic bin. Our driveway became a secret fort. The front yard became an emergency clinic, where Will made paper towel "casts" for Carter's stubbed toe. They became pilots parachuting off our front porch-turned-airplane-in-distress. They became soldiers, involved in a dangerous secret mission.

At one point, I saw all four boys playing dead in the front yard--tongues hanging out of their mouths, eyes squeezed shut, stifling excitement and laughter. After a moment or two of silences, one boy slowly sat up and announced, "Hey, not everyone can be dead at the same time!" So two revived, and a game of emergency hospital began again.

At dusk, they enjoyed frozen ice pops, while sitting on the front steps, unabashedly trading popsicles so they could each enjoy every color and flavor.

It wasn't an ideal beach day, but that didn't stop the fun. Simple fun, but extraordinary nonetheless.