There was a day about this time last year where I was cleaning out my pantry. I found an old ice cream maker that we had bought when the kids were just babies, that I had put away and forgot all about. Inspired, I bought a basket of strawberries and some fresh cream.
Dragon got out early, at 1:30, from school on Fridays. I picked him up and brought him home. The two of us got busy in the kitchen with the now frozen ice cream maker. We poured the cream mixture in. We cranked the handle. We let it sit. We cranked the handle some more. Within a few minutes, we had strawberry ice cream. I got a bowl of ice cream for Dragon and a bowl of ice cream for me. And we saved some for Hannah and Daniel.
As we were sitting at the table, eating our ice cream, Dragon said to me, “Mom, this is delicious! We should make ice cream every Friday. Every Friday, we should make a different flavor of ice cream.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said, laughing.
But it was near the end of the school year, and Dragon was ready to set off the next week for Johns Hopkins, which would start off his busy summer. The summer of 2015.
I’m sorry, Dragon. I’m sorry we never got to make more ice cream.